


𝓐 𝕲𝖚𝖎𝖉𝖊 𝖔𝖓 𝓗𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖇𝖔𝖗𝖓 𝕷𝖚𝖘𝖙𝖘 - 𝕱𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝓦𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝕽𝖔𝔂𝖆𝖑𝖘, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝕴𝖓-𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓.

by SaltyTeaLeaves



Series: From Whores to Royals; A collection of Hazbin Hotel Smut. [1]
Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series), Helluva Boss (Web Series)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Ahegao, Alcohol, Anal Beads, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Anal Worship, BDSM, Bestiality, Bondage, Breeding Kink, Butt Plugs, Choking, Choose Your Own Ending, Consensual Drugging, Corruption, Creampie, Cum Vomit, Daddy Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deepthroating, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Dominant Bottom/Submissive Top, Dominatrix, Double Anal Penetration, Double Dicks, Double Ended Dildo, Drug Use, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fear Play, Femdom, Feminisation, Fluff, Forced Prostitution, Fucked Silly, Gambling, Gunplay, Hate Sex, Humiliation, Incest, Internalized Homophobia, Knotting, M/M, Males With Breasts, Master/Pet, Mpreg, Multi, Multiple Endings, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Linear Narrative, Objectification, Oral Sex, Oxygen Denial, Pegging, Period-Typical Homophobia, Petplay, Phone Sex, Physical Abuse, Porn With Plot, Powerbottom, Prostitution, Pseudo-Oviposition, Public Sex, Rimming, Same-Sex Marriage, Sibling Incest, Sir Pentious has an eye buttplug, Size Difference, Snuff, Spitroasting, Strap-Ons, Suspension, Sweat, Tentacles, Teratophilia, Threesome - F/M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Train position, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Vaginal Sex, Venom drugging, Violence, Violent Sex, Wetting, Whipping, ass worship, bimbofication, cum enema, dubcon, excessive cum, facesitting, mind-break, monstrous demon cocks, musk, public sex toys, slob, special guests, unrealistic holes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 40
Words: 82,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22253446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltyTeaLeaves/pseuds/SaltyTeaLeaves
Summary: Angel Dust has a very exciting afterlife - the sex, the booze, the glamour, and fame. So why does he find himself drawn to Sir Pentious like a moth lured in by the glow of a candle, and better yet? Why does the cobra come slithering back to the spider time and time again? Surely there aren't feelings between the two...right? Meanwhile, Blitzo's world spirals out of control beneath the talons of Prince Stolas, who has more than a few ideas as to how the imp can be trained to suit his particular needs.And all manner of wily ventures that more oft than not end in a hot, steamy embrace lie within. Be wary, gentle reader, for what lurks beyond this title is as kink-ridden as it is passionate. But bare thee curiosity bold enough, then by all means enter at the expense of your own sanity.A note on story organisation: The piece is first divided into sections, and then chapters, relevant to whom or what is involved. For example, S1C2 is about Blitzo's charming business persona, while S2C1 involves Sir Pentious being flirted with. S stands for Section, C stands for Chapter.Furthermore, this work has multiple endings, so it is highly suggested you view it in 'chapter-by-chapter' mode. Please; Enjoy!
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel)/Stolas (Helluva Boss), Angel Dust/Arackniss (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust/Blitzo, Angel Dust/Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust/Sir Pentious (Hazbin Hotel), Angel Dust/Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Blitzo/Stolas (Helluva Boss), Millie/Moxxie (Helluva Boss), Moxxie/Millie/Blitzo (Helluva Boss), RadioDust, SirDust - Relationship
Series: From Whores to Royals; A collection of Hazbin Hotel Smut. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1938259
Comments: 79
Kudos: 339





	1. Index

### 𝓣𝖆𝖇𝖑𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘

* * *

**S1C1:** _ **"Between an IMP and his hard place".**_ Blitzo is trapped between Stolas and Angel as the two quite literally squish him between their tits.  
(Dominant bottoms, powerplay, dirty talk, public exhibitionism, males with breasts)

**S1C2:** _ **"Earlier that very same IMP."**_ The I.M.P staff receive some unfortunate news, while their boss receives an unwelcome phone-call.  
(SFW)

**S1C3: _"An IMP in hand is worth two in the bush"_** Angel and his wealthy client, Prince Stolas, get to work on violating poor Blitzo.  
(Dubcon, Cock worship, Facesitting, Unrealistic holes, ass worship)

**S2C1: _"Significantly Seductive Showmanship"._** Prior to these particularly heated moments, Angel Dust has been hired by Sir Pentious for an evening, and has to tolerate the prissy serpents antics.  
(SFW)

**S2C2: " _Substantially Sultry Steps"._** The resident cobra introduces Angel to the master suite, and the sultry sweetheart responds in favour by pressing Sir Pentious down, and discovering his best kept secret is always in plain sight.  
(Exhibitionism, Anal plugs, Teasing)

**S2C3: _"Soul-Shaking Satisfaction"._** Angel is delighted, and promptly enraptured by just how well endowed Sir Pentious is. He soon discovers how primal and passionate the worked-up royal can be too.   
(Double dicks, ahegao, anal, double penetration, venom drugging, consensual drugging, biting, face-sitting, pseudo-oviposition, excessive cum, fucked silly)

**S2C4: _"Solemn Separations"._** Whilst Pentious is fast asleep, our precious perverted pornstar sneaks out after that thoroughly thrilling evening.  
(After-sex, angst, unusual insertions)

**S1C4: _"An IMPressive display"._** Cutting back to Angel, Stolas, and their well-hung imp plaything; the trio reach climax in a rather raunchy, hole-ruining manner.   
(Public sex, alcohol, train position, deepthroating, drunk sex)

* * *

_**Intermission:** _Blitzo thinks on just exactly what he has experienced, and how that makes him feel. If you have reached this point in one sitting of reading, perhaps you should go stretch your legs, and have some water before continuing.  
(Angst, SFW)

* * *

**S2C5: _"Surreptitious Situations"._** Some time has passed, and Angel finds himself feeling particularly lonely (and very unsatisfied) late at night. He decides it would be better to venture out into the twilight rather than sitting about.  
(Angst, after-sex)

**S1C5: " _IMPulsive needs"._** Moxxie and Millie have a heated argument over a stray at their window.  
(SFW, humour based)

**S2C6: _"Sangria-Stained Side-Streets"_.** Angel's desperate attempts to enter a nightclub for yet unknown purposes (besides getting his fix, of course) leads to an unwelcome encounter with a very familiar face.  
(SFW, questionable interfamilial relationships)

**S2C7: _"Sinful Siblings"._** Many years prior, Arackniss must deal not only with his living Trainwreck of a brother, but also wrestle with his own sexual desires. The two of which go hand-in-hand.  
(Horror, incest, gunplay, drug use, shame)

**S2C8: _"Eager Eightfold Endeavours of the Ever-so Exciting Variety, En lieu of E-Rated Events._ " **The two brothers throw fists, foul words, and all morals aside as they fall apart into a steamy, shameful embrace in a grimy alley.  
(Incest, homophobic language, hate sex, violent sex, dirty sex, excessive orgasms)

**S2C9: _"Stuffy Seatings chosen for Improper Purposes"._** Back within the realm of modernity, Angel finally rejoins with Pentious for a well-deserved night out. And, of course, he's an absolute slut about it all the while.  
(Public sex, oral, double dicks, exhibitionism, dominant bottom)

**S1C6: _"In an otherwise IMPerfect situation..."._** Elsewhere, Blitzo enjoys living in the lap of luxury in Millie and Moxxie's home, despite the latter of which having quite a few issues with this unwelcome guest.  
(SFW, strap-ons, unwanted advances, humour-based, intermarital conflict)

**S1C7: _"IMPs and IMPs and IMPs"._** Moxxie's qualms concerning his boss's presence in his home are squashed between that massive imp dick, and his wife's massive, studded, over-lubed strap-on.  
(Pegging, spit-roasting, threesome M-M-F, strap-ons, breeding kink, cum vomit, excessive cum)

**S2C10: _"Sugar-Sweet Terror"._** Sir Pentious' idea of a good time just happens to involve gambling, but what happens when a familiar face enters the fray?  
(SFW)

* * *

_**Intermission:**_ Beneath his gaze, Angel is nothing. Beneath his gaze, Angel is a timid, terrified little strumpet. Left drained, and emotionally destroyed; Is that why Angel loves him so much? Congratulations are due for making it to the second intermission. Have you considered visiting the lobby to get yourself a treat?  
(SFW, Horror, Abusive relationship, Character-appropriate toxicity)

* * *

**S2C11: _"Such Simple Techniques, yet Such Superlative Tenacity"_** Pentious has a plan. It isn't the most elegant plan, but it's something. When it comes to matters concerning overlords you must thrive rather than simply survive.   
(SFW, Plot)

**S1C8: _"Operator, Operator; it is IMPerative you strike this from the record."_** Blitzo is not the most popular person at the IMP headquarters, but soon finds solace in Stolas.  
(Phone sex, Extreme Dirty Talk)

**S2C12: _"School of Simple Knocks."_** A shorter piece introducing Angel to Pentious estate, and habits, a little more formally.  
(SFW, humour based)

**S1C9: _"The IMPetuous Romps of IMPulsive Regals."_** Stolas refuses to wait any longer. He has been sufficiently ruffled, and seeks to in turn take that sexual frustration out on Blitzo - regardless of where he is.  
(Public sex, Anal fisting, Extreme dirty talk, unrealistic holes)

**S2C13: _"Sinister Servings of Consensual Cruelty."_** Angel may have refused an education courtesy of the fine snake, but he will never refuse the application of an education from the fine snake.  
(BDSM, Bondage, Cropping, Painplay, Suspension)

**S1C10: _"An IMPregnated Couple."_** Millie can't wait to get home after suffering through Blitzo's noisy romp, and takes it out of Moxxie. In fact, she takes a _LOT_ more than just that out of him.  
(Anal fingering, Cum enema, Purging, Vaginal Sex, Impregnation, Breeding-kink, Femdom)

**S2C14: _"Suddenly; Sincerity! So Previously Disposed!"_** Within Sir Pentious' pretty little abode, Angel has a chance to relax. Time quickly proves a relaxed mind can wander to unwilled realms of thought.  
(SFW, Fluff, Romantic feelings)

**S1C11: _"An IMPending Arrangement."_** Both Blitzo and Angel find themselves in an uncomfortable position, and both of them find themselves booked in for something even more... unpleasant.  
(SFW, Angst, Moderate Fluff)

**S1C12: _"Poor IMPressions, Worse Table-side Manners"_** A spot of afternoon tea quickly becomes a sparring match, but the sharpest blade soon finds itself piercing Angel's heart.  
(SFW, Drama, Angst)

* * *

**_I_** ** _ntermission:_** Angel's afterlife seems to go from bad to worse. Is there really any hope for him, or even the faintest illusion that he might live out the rest of his eternity with a fragment of joy in it? Time will tell. This will be the final intermission for this story, so if you need a bathroom break? Now is the time.  
(Angst)

* * *

**S2C15: _"An Alley-cat Arachnid Allures An Awfully Alcohol Affected Alastor."_** Once again within the comfort of the 'Happy Hotel', Angel indulges in some questionable stress-relief with a demon that requires no introduction, but would absolutely adore one all the same.  
(Dubcon, Alcohol, Breast worship)

**S2C16: _"Dreadful - Utterly Dreadful - Demons, and the Dastardly Designs they Drawn in the Dark."_** They say many breeds of spider devour their mates after sex, but is what Angel does to his 'prey' any different? They're certainly left feeling eaten in one way or another after.  
(Dubcon/Potential Noncon, Dominant Bottom, Tentacles, Alcohol, Dirty Talk)

**S1CF: _"Of those lacking in IMPecuniousness comes a willfully IMPrisoned plaything."_** In the dark of night, a welcome intruder sneaks into a familiar place, only to be captured and detained by the most wonderful of wardens. Thus ends the escapades of Blitzo and Stolas, but not of the whole story.   
(Fluff, Sex Toys, Owner/Pet dynamic, Mild Petplay)

 **S2CF: _"Surely Sorrows Cease Someday? Certainly, but Sales of Suffering are Sky-rocketing, So..."_** Angel is hardly a model person. Maybe a model demon though. Thus ends the escapades of Angel, but not of the whole story. Use this chapter as the gateway to the multiple endings.  
(Angst, Humiliation, Drug-Use)

* * *

 **  
ENDINGS:** There is little I can say to warn you of these, but I shall do my best so as to not spoil them.   
  
**  
  
E1: -  
** (Crossdressing, Drug-Use, Romance)

**E2: -**  
(Slavery, Forced Prostitution, Noncon, Dubcon, Angst, Humiliation)

**E3: -**  
(Snuff, Gunplay, Crossdressing, Incest, Wetting, Hardcore Sadomasochism, Major Character Death)

**E4: -  
** (Slob, Rimming, Musk, Sweat, Angst, Drug-Use)

  
  
 **E5: -**  
(Corruption, Bestiality, Mpreg, Bimbofication, Feminisation, Humiliation, Degradation, Rimming, Anus worship, Knotting, Mind-break)

* * *

  
**Afterword:** -  
(OOC)


	2. S1C1: Between an IMP and his hard place

  
"Well I think the best drinks are the most expensive." Stolas' beak split into that familiar, black smile. An air of smugness hung about him as he spoke, despite just how very bare the prince was. "It doesn't really matter about the taste, so long as they cost the lives of at least three innocent souls per glass. The luxury is its own delicious prize, don't you agree, Blitzy?"   
"Puh-lease. Ya think just 'coz the glass is rimmed with gold the booze is good. Well toots, it ain't. There are two drinks worth gettin'; The ones that are laced, the ones that got more kick in 'em than my ass on a Tuesday, and the ones that are sweet." The raw scent of sugar-tainted cocaine hung about the spider's sickly breath, emphasized only when he leaned over the nervous, shivering imp between him and his present 'client'.  
  
"And who's to say that doesn't make it good?" Stolas took a long sip of his drink, permitting his slick, slimy tongue to slide across the cup's edge while maintaining constant eye-contact with his favourite little imp, despite the red-skinned man avoiding those red eyes as if they bore the plague itself.   
"It's less about the quality and more about the prestige. It's so much better to know what you're drinking could buy and sell someone else several times over."   
Blitzo felt the stocking-clad royal shift, and reach his long talon up and over the escort, pulling him in closer and (likely with full intention of doing so) pressed those two sizable, questionably-robust tits against the side of his face, while the Lord of Hell's own entirely naturally pair inadvertently pressed against his nervous prey too. 

  
"It's all about prestige. I could, and can own you. I could, and can own Blitzy here too, isn't that right sweet-heart?" This time he quite obviously pressed his tits against Blitzo, holding the squirming imp by the horns lest he escape. Stolas was a married royal, and as such took to deviating from that path in the most dramatic way possible.

He had not the slightest qualms with taking what he wanted from such weak, beautiful subjects.

Besides, Blitzo certainly wasn't weak all over. The sizable, weighty bulge between his thighs was evidence enough of that, despite the fact that he was fully clothed and quite small. He could full-well be mistaken as Stolas' own daughter, given how small he is. But then, what's wrong with that? Nobody would dare tell the Prince his actions were indecent - especially given they'd have to avoid looking at his own throbbing length, which still fell short of what the circus-freak's stripey cock was.   
  
Even though the bar was high class - felt couches, elegant decor, and a piano player (rather than the broken jukeboxes Angel was so used to) - Blitzo couldn't help but feel like a cheap whore. Like he was being paraded about, even if he were fully clothed. A taloned hand dripping down over his shoulder threatened to change that, however.   
"Th-this has been quite fun-" "The fun has barely started, Blitzy, dear. You wouldn't want to disappoint me, would you darling?" He opened his mouth to protest, but the sickly-sweet spider-slut practically jumped in, sensing an opportunity of weakness.

"Ya wouldn't wanna disappoint us, now would ya?" Those heterochromatic eyes positively bore into him, despite how low those long, perfectly maintained lashes batted. "Mister Stolas here paid a pretty penny for me, mhm-hmm... sorry." His attention drew back up to the bird, who was positively buzzing with excitement now.   
Unfortunately, there was no way poor 'Blitzy' was getting out of here in one piece, much less with his exceptionally swanky coat intact. "...For us. An' he's been so kind as to buy us drinks too. Surely ya don't want ta leave 'im hangin', do ya? Speakin' of somethin' hangin'..." Angel's unused arms slowly began to slide across Blitzo's lap, but were slapped away by Stolas who did not want anyone other than him having first blood.   
Especially with how obvious his own long, pressing arousal was. It repeatedly caught Blitzo's attention - and whenever he looked away he always seemed to land on the spiders equally hard cock.   
"I could not have put it better myself dear Blitzy. You do know what happens when I feel owed, right? Tell me," Stolas began ever so slowly creeping his long, threateningly sharp claws down the detailed boss' clothing, plucking away his buttons one by one with a faint 'pop' tuned perfectly with the pianist's work mere metres away. "What would you do when you're owed, Mister Dust?" 

Angel wasn't one to waste this moment, and followed suit, slowly undoing Blitzo's shirt, completely ignoring their victim's claims that he had to be going. The rapid pitter-patter of his tail was evidence enough he needed to stay - throbbing, weighty bulge, and the faint glowing trickle of precum staining the barely concealed head aside.   
  
"Well I'm no brute. Sure, y'can shoot 'em up, and that's plenty fun... But uhh, with someone as 'valuable' as, say, a certain shiverin' imp?" he planted a long, staining kiss against Blitzo's cheek, making sure to catch that golden gaze as Angel slid a wink over his freckled cheek. "I'd want to take every single, last, hole-ruinin' inch of everythin' they had, and take it as my own to do with as I please."   
That seemed to please Stolas, who drew Angel in for a kiss right in front of Blitzo, making no small effort to properly press his long, eager tongue down Angel's throat, and in turn gently twisted about the spider's own. When they broke the saliva hung low, and eventually fell right on the dolled-up imp's suit.  
No amount of steam cleaning would fix it now. It had to be burned later.  
"You see, darling Blitzy, baby, what we want is absolutely natural." He lifted one of those incredibly shapely legs up and rested it over the smaller male's lower thighs, preventing him from bolting (complete with a gentle shake of the Prince's perky derriere to boot) "And you're going to give it to us. It's just... mmm... that fat, thick, spiked fucking cock needs to be put to better use than trapped in your pants, darling." he leaned in, watching Angel intently as the whore sipped on his murky pink drink, tapping on the glasses' stem rhythmically. His breath was heavy with the smell of lubricant and aged wine - clearly he'd 'sampled' what angel had to offer before Blitzo had arrived.   
"You should know just how badly I need this, darling, so allow me to spell it out to you in absolute, perfect clarity. I've been such a desperate cocksleeve this past week. Can you believe I almost dicked my wife into her sheets last night I was so pent up, but you know I'd just be thinking of you when I'm knocking that hag up."  
"I'm going to ride your barbed dick until every inch of you is covered in sweat and cum, tonguefucking your vodka-oozing arsehole while you gag up on this filthy whore's perfumed cock. You're going to scream my name as I fuck your harder and with more teeth than your ridged rape-toy can take!"   
  
Poor Blitzo looked down in terror as Stolas unclipped the final button, setting free the frightened imp's fear-induced foot-long dick. The spurt of lava-like precum which accompanied a throb of his massive length only further cemented his current fate, evident that even Angel was shivering with delight as he gently slid the tips of his powdered claws down the dick. Every, last, ridged, spiked inch. "Daddy..."


	3. S1C2: Earlier that very same IMP...

  
"Uh huh. Oh yeah. Is that right? No, really?" Red eyes glared across the office, practically glued to the knife-ridden poster featuring 'Hell's Number One Boss' Blitzo. She stank of cough medicine, and vodka; her usual aroma around 10am. The she-wolf's long, borderline skunk-like tail flicked back and forth annoyedly as she tapped the tips of her bare paws against the grimy, poorly kept, hardwood floorboards.   
"And you... uh huh... oh yeah. Sure. Hey, so, lemme be real with you for a second? You know how it sounds like I'm hanging up..." The outdated phone was promptly slapped down on the receiver, followed by an exasperated sigh from the undoubtedly hungover Loona.  
"Ughhh! This place sucks. This place sucks, and you all suck. You suck ass. Collectively." Clearly, however juvenile her attempts might be, someone was looking for a fight.   
Millie, as it so happened, knew better than to kick whatever hornet's nest was presently lodged several feet up Loona's (admittedly quite firm) ass. She was more than content to sip on her coffee, and slowly sort through today's I.M.P mailbox. Unfortunately, Blitzo had a habit of indulging in copious amounts of clickbait (and several questionable subscriptions concerning homeless demons and both varieties of 'bum fights') whilst on the work network, so the inbox was 80% utter trite. 15% of what remained were complaints about how ineffective they were, or how they were severely lacking several significant licenses. The remaining chunk were interested buyers, and though they were few and far between, they were valuable all the same.   
Moxxie, however, was not so content. There it was - his fiery disposition barely concealing just how weak-willed he was underneath. Eyes wide, soft lips parted into a snarl, trying his best to carry some semblance of power despite his stature being the first of many short things he possessed. "I'm sorry, is your job not entertaining enough, Loona?" "Eat a dick." The 'adopted' woman flicked the short, fuming imp the finger, deciding to pay him no heed. Beating Moxxie in a fight was like defeating a child at chess - a child who is blind, and has rickets. And does not understand chess.  
"Oh well forgive me! Clearly your job is so hard! Millie, back me up on this. Clearly she has it the hardest, right?" A nervous glance back at his wife informed dear Moxxie that she would not be backing his perky little rear up in this debate, ignoring him too. 

  
The bickering was interrupted by the exceptionally late entrance of their employer, who bore not only a shiny new suit perfectly clad about his hips, but the smuggest smile possible for an imp. If his brows raised any further they might just leave his smarmy ass behind. "Attention, attention everybody." He proclaimed, dusting off the front of his shiny, gorgeous outfit.  
Every inch of it fit him perfectly; his waist tightly gripped, showing off his curves in all the right places. His sleeves came just over his wrists, complete with clearly unnecessary trimming and frills, not to mention each sleeve, pocket, and lapel featuring golden, custom buttons. Even his ass was donned in the most tight-fitting leggings one could get their hands on. Thanks to his tail requiring the coat part quite high up, that salivation-worthy rump was only barely hidden from the world. Millie was the first to notice, casting two quick glances behind her boss to admire that firm, perky, positively pinchable rump.   
The richest ruby-red velvet, the most gorgeous silken linings, and the deepest black he could afford all graced this gorgeous ensemble. Complete, of course, with heels that could cut glass with how sharp they were (and to help him stand just above dick-sucking level with most demons). 

  
"Looking mighty handsome today, boss!" Millie jumped in, once again paying more attention to the harlequin heart-breaker than her annoyed husband. Blitzo let it go straight to his head, doing his best to hide a blush with a dramatic little twirl. "You have excellent taste, Millie. Can you tell me what these are?" the taller imp presented his cufflinks to be examined, showing off the gold-lace embroidered seams. "They're..." The enthusiastic woman was caught off guard, smacking her glossy black lips together as she racked her brain for the answer. Her job was gunning people down (as barbarous as that was, though in Hell a stable, reputable career for certain) not using her head. 

"They're pretty?" The ex-carnival-trickster let out a sharp laugh, before patting Millie on the head. "You get points for trying. Now, Loona, can yo-"   
"I don't care." Blunt, as always. Though Loona did afford a quick look up from her ever-available mobile to eye his ensemble off. He did, admittedly, look good. Just not good enough for her to admit it. Or to cure syphilis.   
Blitzo wasn't about to let that get him down, and as if she were a pet to be coddled? Gave the soon snarling Loona a gentle pet upon the head, before promptly retracting his sharp claws lest she bite him. Again. "No doubt, my clever employees, you have noticed I am looking exceptionally sharp. Gorgeous. Glamorous. I feel so good I could sing-"  
"Please don't." Moxxie whimpered, already feeling the sharp stinging in his ears.   
The tallest imp took it in his stride, and scooped Moxxie up despite the white-haired dear's exceptionally vocal demands otherwise. "Of course, my most treasured employee. If you keep on my good graces you might just make employee of the month! But I," Blitzo spread his arms to the room, immediately dropping the white-haired boy on his ass with a loud thump in a rather dramatic fashion. "I'm not only here to praise each and every one of my prized workers for their dedication, or to gloss over how I spent their pay-packets on this new suit."   
"You did what?!" Moxxie shouted up from beside Blitzo's still shining heeled boots. 

  
"But instead I have an important announcement to make. Today marks the start of our new financial quarter, and I would like to give you my best wishes in keeping up the... the uhh... " Blitzo checked his open palm. Whatever he had scribbled on there had smudged beyond legibility, and he was instantly put on the spot in a way he did not enjoy. "... the... positive... income... financiality. Today."   
It took the entire crew a few moments to properly register what they had just heard before Millie (ever the optimist) began clapping heartily. Moxxie was caught in a thick web of bemusement and horror so intense he could not make a single sound, wordlessly stumbling over even the most simple responses. The loud pop in the background signified Loona had opened the New Year's Eve champagne far too early, and had no intention of sharing it as she began chugging the frothy liquid down.  
"Now, I know we may be scraping the barrel a little, what with your pay being 're-allocated' for PR purposes, but I know each and every one of you will come around to-"  
The phone began to ring. Not the office phone, but Blitzo's. He kept his charming grin plastered on his face as he procured the device with a flourish, trying his best to look unbroken as he read just who had called him.   
"Ah fuck."


	4. S1C3: An IMP in hand is worth two in the bush

  
Angel's voice was slick with lust as he carefully enunciated every painfully desperate syllable in 'Daddy'. From where Blitzo was practically trapped, he could not deny Angel was beautiful, albeit with that unmistakable male charm hanging about him to keep the more curious purveyors of sin on their toes. That glittery, vermillion eyeshadow, those glossy black lips, that gentle splattering of freckles upon his fur... That said, attraction does not detract from the severity of his predatory advances upon poor Blitzo, who knew he was doomed from the moment he walked into this palace of sin.   
"Blitzy never disappoints, Mister Dust. He's quite the rare little specimen." The royal talon-tips gently drifted over the imp's ridged segments, slowly following every groove, and every short, sharp spike. Thankfully, such as it were, the denizens of hell that indulged in such 'recreational' activities such as sex tended to be fairly resistant to such features.   
This was, after all, the afterlife. Sexual promiscuity within the land of the living was nothing compared to the debaucheries demons delved into. "Note how the markings upon his flesh are entirely natural - similar to vitiligo. The small spikes I assure you are quite firm too. Excellent for... teasing the inner walls of your slimy arsehole, my fellow depraved bitch." Even Angel felt a blush covering his cheeks at such foul words, though he had undoubtedly heard worse. Blitzo, unfortunately, had too, though at the hands of this royal rather than several hundred particularly well-hung 'actors'. It was a miracle that Angel's Hole was even intact, let alone as tight as it was. A matter Stolas had tested out before even permitting Angel the opportunity of his employ.   
  
The Prince continued his observation of the squirming imp's cock, taking great care to point out his most favourite segments. "The mid-section is quite thick, thanks to this curve, and each of these small, rounded lumps lined along the underside will glow the closer he comes to orgasm. And when he does... oh my~" Stolas licked the edges of his beak, clearly growing quite aroused, locking eyes with Blitzo, with great intent. "If we travel further south, Blitzy here becomes quite tender and sensitive. Ticklish, even, not that the feathers help, of course. And no doubt you have noticed those golden studs, as well as that massive, shining, golden ring at the tip. Naturally, it doesn't look too large on his already sizable, thoroughly gag-deserving, throat-stretching, rock-fucking-hard cock. Ah-hem. The studs are at my request, you see. I am a bird of aesthetic appreciation, as such... Blitzy, dear. This coat." Stolas climbed atop the imp, holding those smaller shoulders still and making sure that hot, twitching length was pressed right between his feathered, plush cheeks. He wasn't a wide-hipped harlot by any means, that Stolas. But that wasn't to say his butt was lacking.   
Far from it. As his wife had put it, back when the magic was still there? 'He was a royal ass, with a royal ass'. Firm - defined - perky. While his hips were not as defined as Angels, and he lacked that natural imp-like smallness (that, in and of itself, only further lended to Blitz' rump roundedness) his ass practically begged to be stared at- especially when he started to roll his hips back and forth, sliding his hot, twitching rim along Blitzy's aching length.  
"Wh-what's wrong with the coat? You don't like the coat? Well, I can go change it. I should go change it, right uh... 'Angel'? Buddy?" Blitzo tried for any footing he could, so that he might sprint free of this den. Instead, Angel was preoccupied lighting a fag on a long cigarette holder. He took a drawn out huff, and let the smoke billow from between those plush, black lips as he spoke. "Honey, ya ain't goin' nowhere. Ya gotta stop tryin', really. It's just sad." The imps tiny, black heart sunk to the bottom of his stomach.   
Spying this moment of opportunity, Prince Stolas drew his claws down the harlequin's cheek, before tightening them under his frilled collar, yanking on his skull-bauble bolo-tie, causing the tiny victim to gag loudly. "Just look at it! It's so... garish! At least on an imp, anyway. You really shouldn't try to dress up like royalty, dear." Stolas couldn't wait any longer, his hips bucking slightly as he lifted them, whilst reaching down for Blitzo's cock, angling it up against the lust-mad bird's surprisingly tight, pulsing rim. "You know you'll never be one of us..."

"But that doesn't mean you're getting off so lightly." Prince Stolas pulled away from Blitzo, forcing a whimper of desperation out of the clearly frustrated imp. Assuming the glowing segments of his cock were evidence enough of that, and if not? Then the faint trickle of incredibly hot precum dribbling down his thick length that caused the fabric around his dick to catch light and cinder, should erase any doubts. Thankfully, the denizens of Hell were quite fire retardant, and yet surprisingly sensitive to hot wax...   
With but a gentle push, Stolas had Blitzo pressed down along the length of the couch, as Angel repositioned himself so that when Blitzy looked at him for the last time for help, he was greeted with an exceptionally flattering view of the innermost, tender flesh of those spread thighs, and the fairly intimidating spider cock - sleek, but very aesthetically pleasing.   
Not to mention those (likely fake) asscheeks promising a particularly tight pucker just waiting to be spread down the imp's massive cock, given the trail of juices trickling down from his overlubed hole. "What'cha lookin' at?" The silky seducer teased, cocking his head to the side and carefully playing with his fluffy hair. What could Blitzo say, as he stammered and stuttered? That he couldn't help but drool at that taut, perfectly kissable midriff? Those massive, plush tits? The amazingly skilled way Angel Dust grinned so that the light always caught his golden fang? Or the fact that Blitzo had only ever seen him in the occasional porn video? Not that he was the one who put them on. He preferred to watch them through Millie's bedroom window when she was alone at night, or occasionally trying to sway her perky-butted husband into letting their boss in.   
  
Before he could answer, Angel piped up again as he began to shift. _Oh no no no no_. "Now, from where I'm about to be sittin', I think you've only got a few more seconds of air left, so if I were you..." Using his lower arms he pulled himself up off the arm-rest, firm thighs sliding along the couch until Blitzy was face-to-face (in a manner of speaking) with the arachnid asshole's (admittedly amazing) arse, which was as fuzzy as it was impossibly rounded. And complete with a cheeky little love-heart upon the left cheek. Glinting from within he could spy something metal. Were those... spider-bite piercings on his anus? _Of course they were._  
Angel took another puff of his cigarette whilst reaching back to grip the imp by his horns, making sure he wasn't about to pull away from what was coming. "...I'd take a long, deep breath, because yer not gettin' away from my fuckpit til I'm squirtin', darl." And with that he sat down on Blitzo's face, complete with a faint squelch and a mewl of delight from the pornstar. 

  
From the incredibly aroused and absolutely smothered imp's perspective, Blitzy made the astonishingly astute observation that he could not see a damn thing. Nothing. All he could feel was the heavy weight pressing down on his entire head, the hot body-temperature of the man atop him radiating against his face, and the screaming sensation in his lungs begging for air, before finally giving in and breathing in the smell of cheap hooker. The raw, ungodly sweet smell of Angel's plush arse burned his tongue - likely a combination of the spider's naturally pheromone rich aroma, and the liberal application of perfume in all manner of places. "Ya ain't lickin, Blitzy-babe!" The spider barked, grinding his tight, hot hole down on the still clothed captive's face.   
Stolas must have enjoyed that, because all Blitz could hear after that assertive command were the sounds of a particularly sloppy kiss coming from above, as well as an ungodly amount of wayward saliva trickling down to his cock. Obedience was demanded, and unfortunately, he had to respond appropriately.   
He opened his mouth, repulsed at the idea of what he was about to do, but pushing past that much like how his long, slimy tongue pressed and strained against the slut's tight, oven-hot pucker. Every long, drawn-out lap upon that tight rim caused it to pulse, revealing just how loose it could be every time it kissed him back. Blitzo's mind started to go numb, and he wasn't sure if that was due to Angel's naturally venomous nature, or if several litres of potent liquor were presently flooding his arse. 

  
Angel was soaked enough for the latter to be the case, that's for certain. The sugar-sweet flavour didn't go away when he pressed in, coaxed along when Stolas took a hold of the pretty plaything's properly pleasant penis with a very firm grip. Angels insides unconsciously, but quite expertly, began to pulse and tighten down on the imp's tongue, which seemed to press deeper and deeper by the second. His mouth was flooded with hot juices, every gulp followed by a breath of hot Angel arse, which spluttered and squeaked with pleasure.  
He didn't want this, but he couldn't deny how much he needed this.   
His tongue had long since gone numb, and his head felt pleasantly empty. Swimming in a sea of hot, desperate need, as he pressed his slimy orifice against the buzzing slut's hole. Maybe the man presently on top of him had said something - maybe that would explain why he was rocking his firm butt down on poor Blitzo? 

  
Maybe that would explain the shaking - the constant pulsing and tightening of his hole, eagerly trying to pull that long imp tongue in deeper, until finally a loud groan of pleasure flooded Blitzo's ears as hot, sweet juices did just the same with his mouth, and spurted against his face in the most raunchy sound Blitzo ever had the 'privelege' of experiencing. The juices simply did not let up either. Orgasm after orgasm racked Angel, soaking Blitzo to his core, and leaving his mind a lost, drunken mess. All he could clearly feel was his heart pounding rapidly within the tight embrace of his ribs, before finally; the shivering pornstar pulled off with several strands of lubricant between his sweaty, wet ass, thighs, and poor Blitzo's lust-drunk face left positively steaming from the spider's natural heat.  
"Aww; look at my precious boy..." Stolas exclaimed, coming into view from the blurry void and heavy cloud of steam that had risen off the two desperate demons. He carefully inspected his cherry-red property, who presently was dumbly smiling with his eyes half-lidded, and tongue lolling out of his open mouth.  
The Prince wasn't about to waste an opportunity to be as depraved as possible, and eagerly drew his own slimy tongue up Blitzo's cheeks, tasting Angel off him and quite enjoying the flavour too. "Who is your favourite Prince, Blitzy?"  
"Y-you are..."  
Stolas let out a rolling trill of joy, leaning in to plant an ass-juice tainted kiss on the soaked little slut's cheek. "Good answer. Now I do believe it is my turn on the imp..."


	5. S2C1: Significantly Seductive Showmanship

  
"Ssssoo you sssseeee...." He extended a set of sharp, hot-pink painted claws towards the portrait of a particularly haughty looking snake woman, who was as disdainful as she was covered in wrinkles. "It wasss in 1830 my dear auntie Ssssilvia had her workersss exxsecuted for failing to meet the unreasssonable expectationss placced upon them. It wass all very legal, of courssse. But their filthy little familiess rossse up, and had her unlawfully beheaded. The ssssssavages. And that was when I took over the family busssinessssss." One would expect such boring exposition courtesy of a tour guide, donned in an itchy sweater and stinking of cats, but instead, the excitable Sir was dressed-up in a striped suit, and carried himself with the grace of a king. Or a queen. He was clearly enthusiastic about what he was ranting about, only stopping to take a brief breath or to make sure his tophat was in place. The hat had long since decided it did not like their 'guest' and had glued its gaze to the stripey slut as soon as he had entered the abode.  
Said party, however, was anything but interested, and had instead decided to poke what looked like a ceremonial urn like a child, until the powdered pornstar was caught not paying attention, and very nearly knocked the ashes of the aforementioned Auntie 'Ssssilvia's soul onto the floor in a flustered attempt to stand up straight. As if any inch of him could be considered 'straight'. 

  
"Oh. Yeah. Very interestin'. Positively rivetin'. Very informative with the uhh..." Angel struggled to muster the barest of effort and gave up midway through. Rather opting to just shrug and leave the sentence unfinished as he inspected his gloves for dust. Sure, this place was very aesthetically pleasing. And it definitely confirmed that Sir Pentious was exceptionally loaded. Not a single inch of the walls were without perfectly carved scales, or lacking in gold detailings, ruby eyes, and likely extinct, rare demon skulls. Even the furniture was one-of-a-kind. But he had about as much interest in the history of this high-class home as he did attending to his creepier fans letters.  
"It isss very interesssting!" Sir Pentious, it seemed, was just as attentive to Angel's mood as the striped slut was to the 'tour'. He brushed those onyx locks over his shoulder, pink gaze surveying all that he owned. His own, perfect, gilded slice of Hell. Located just beyond the city in the eternally dying woods, where the thorns grew thick and sharp, and the trees hung low with overgrown moss and twisting vines. "If you would like we can proceed into the trophy hall. We ssstill hav-"  
"Ah no thanks." Angel interrupted, fearing he'd learn more about this fruitcake's family history than he'd want to. He was here for one purpose and one purpose only; sweet, sweet cash. 

  
Well, the fact that the snake was pleasant on the eyes certainly helped. But it was mostly the cash. "I think I'd rather get to know you some more." The spider made sure to lean on the staircase railing, carefully stretching out his leg so to reveal just enough of his thigh that his panties were visible.   
"Me? Well, let usss sssseee... I was born in-" A loud groan escaped Angel Dust, as if his soul was somehow leaving its immortal coil. He wasn't sure what was more frustrating; the fact that Pentious couldn't take a hint to save his unlife, or that Angel was presently being paid an exorbitant amount of money per hour just for being here. "Oh. I sssssee. You didn't mean it like that, did you?" Sir Pentious struggled with the words, slithering closer towards the stairs and their presently irritated occupant. Just a little. Whilst he occupied himself with his shiny buttons, he tried to find the words. The porn-star did not deign to reply to the question - it was far below his pay grade to get 'personal'.  
"It'ssss jussst... I... " Words caught in the snake's throat, trying so desperately to break free. "It... It hassss jussst been sso long..."   
It seemed the snake wasn't immune to bodily charms. Who would have guessed, given how much time he devoted to crackpot schemes so that he might carve a new slice of Hell for himself? "I mean, back in the land of the living I wasss quite the dassshing fellow. I would ssssseduce all manner of courtly Ladiesss and Lordsss, and they would fall before my feet to-mngh!" A single sharp claw was pressed upon his soft, quivering lips. Angel leaned forward just a little more, letting his prominent cleavage show as he slid his arm away from the snake's mouth, soon getting lost amidst those conditioned locks as he locked eyes on the nervous man. "Shhh~"

"Ah, sugar. Yer overthinkin' it. Yer not usin' ya head, least, not the right one." He pulled himself closer, swaying his taut hips as he cornered in on the timid, knighted prey. "Ya gotta relax. Yer so... pent up, Pentious." Angel snickered, practically melting around and behind the prim and proper python, using his hands to gently massage the snake's shoulders, whilst settling another two on the client's waist. He was surprised by just how much girth there was to the snake's hips, and by the firmness of his scaled flesh as the pornstar pressed his own crotch up against the snake's rump. Or, at least, what resembled a butt, though lacked the expected definition? As far as Angel was concerned it was a butt, and so help him he would find the hole - wherever it was.   
Within moments the snake's defenses began to puddle around him; his shoulders began to relax, and his blush soon faded in favour of a dumb, fangy smile as those very skilled fingers worked into his flesh. "Ahh... of coursssse. You sssseee, back in my day I'd-"   
"Ah!" That perfumed voice commanded him to change the current course of his chatter.   
"Well, the.... It.... You have very sssssoft hands? And you sssmell very nice?" It wasn't the weirdest thing Angel had heard this week, and it didn't involve his feet so he was going to take it. "Thanks, doll." 

  
"You're w-welcome, Misssster Dusssst. And might I sssssay that your pricessss are far too low for one ass ssssskilled ass you?" That earned a laugh from the fluffy spider, who planted a tender kiss upon Sir Pentious cheek, then another on his jaw, then his neck, and down... down... He coaxed a moan out of the serpent, and another has the final set of hands tentatively crept up along the client's sides, gently cupping his faintly pronounced chest. The snake titties. Snitties, one might even say, were they so inclined to such rudimentary terms. Such tender, small mounds of flesh. They certainly were not plump, juicy breasts, but they certainly were Angel's business, the perverted little queer that he was.

  
"Y'know, this really is a lovely parlor. Shame I can't see the bedroom from here." A fair statement, given Sir Pentious' hair had since risen up into that eager, threatening spread. His cobra cowl, perhaps. It had the unfortunate effect of denying anyone behind him vision ahead, though in Angel's case he hardly needed to see anything when he was so engrossed in rubbing his thumbs into the tender flesh of the python's hips. He was honestly a little jealous.  
"Oh! A-ahngh.... w-well, you ssssee it'sss actually up the sssstairs, to the left, passst the sss-ssstudy-"   
Angel smiled to himself, resting his chin on Pentious grey-striped blazer shoulder. "I was thinkin' you'd show me instead." His voice sounded like honey to the shivering snake, who did not even notice that his cowl had flared up. He was slick clay in this powdered angel's teasing claws. "O-oh! Yesss, of coursssse. I would be a poor hossst if I didn't." 


	6. S2C2: Substantially Sultry Steps

"Mhm... Ya absolutely would be. Ya know, I wonder how many bedrooms you have in this dive? Five? Ten?"   
Sir Pentious wasted no time, eager to answer any and all questions about his lovely manor, and whilst his head was up in the clouds his ass slowly began to slither up the stairs. "Sssseventeen! If one isss ssso brazen ass to include the massster bedroom." 'Were one so brazen'? Was this guy for real? As the pornstar followed closely behind the serpent, he decided that this guy truly was, indeed, 'for real'. Every inch of him exuded grace, and a certain debonair confidence, which made it all the more entertaining to make him flustered. Not that Angel was here purely as a courtesy visit - he was banking hard, and every minute he spent ogling the sway of Pentious' ass was a pinch of dust to add to the ever-growing pile of the snortable shots of Heaven he was imagining.   
"'Master Bedroom'. I like the sound of that. It sounds... hot."   
The python frowned, taken a little off-guard. "I mussst inform you that thisss manor iss at a comfortable temperature in every lassssst inch. It iss not 'Hot', ass you ssssay." Before Angel could bare his golden fang in a forced smile, his host opened two ornate double doors to the nicest bedroom Angel ever had the pleasure of planning to coat himself head to toe in lubricant within.   
He stood there - mouth agape - in utter awe of the sheer grandeur of the room. The main hall was certainly impressive - gilded and gorgeous, with a shine to every last inch of it. But this bedroom truly took the cake.   
  
Every piece of furniture was lined in slowly blinking ruby eyes, and gold-coated wood, lined in silk, and covered in glittery, golden pillows. "That isss a Canapé à Confidante, and that one there issss a Récamier, often confusssed with a 'Fainting Couch', which issss over there..." Angel knew his ass wasn't even worthy enough to sit on an inch of the spotless, rich oak hardwood floor, let alone those silken heavens. The walls were lined in all manner of decor; Pinned butterfly cases, animal heads, what appeared to be a collection of antique (at least to him) wheelock firearms, and... was that a sword? The incredibly cursive title beneath it informed him that it was a 'rapier', not that he knew the difference between that and a stiletto.   
And of course, the ceiling had a crystal chandelier. The balcony overlooked Pentagram city, casting an ill red glow across the beautiful room, but the star attraction was set dead in the middle of it all. The pièce de résistance, if you will.   
  
The Bed. Larger than any grimy king mattress Angel had ever been bent over upon, with glittering silk brocades dangling from the decorated canopy, enticing the spider closer. He looked nervously at the rather proud snake, who invited Angel to do just that. With cautious movements, the white-furred fellow tentatively drew the very tips of his fingers down one of the expertly carved poles, and down along the crisp, clean sheets. It was... Would be the nicest bed Angel had ever planted his ass down in. "Murder! This is aces... I uh, I mean. Well, It's nice. I suppose." He tried to play it cool, but it seemed that even the slightest praise (albeit in a lingo still too modern for the long-dead denizen of Hell to fully understand) made Pentious positively glow with pride. He plucked his bow tie a few times, slithering around the bed with his head held high in the air. Jesus.   
"It really issss jussst that ssssublime, isn't it? I think you'll find that classss dictatesss one invessst heavily in the pleassuressss of the eye. Furnisssshings notwithssstanding."   
  
Was that him trying to... flirt? As paltry an attempt as it was, it still drew a modest blush from the spider. It was sweet. "Ain't ya just a doll? No need to blow yer wig, hot stuff." Now it was Angel's turn to impress the other, with his cunning charms and thoroughly flirtatious musings - a skillset produced from years spent both on and off-camera crawling into the bed of other men.   
He was like a bird of prey. Sure enough, Sir Pentious held the financial power here, but when it came to the art of seduction he could barely hold a candle to the positively blinding glow of Angel, and the spider's noteworthy, plush pair of tits that demanded - no, screamed for attention. There was a rhythm to it. Each footstep carefully taken, followed with a gentle sway of Angel's hips as he encircled the snake.  
"You've got a pretty keen place here, but when was the last time you had a guest, huh? Strikes me as a pretty lonely bed..." His many claws crawled up the chaste cobra's chest, expertly unfastening buttons and prying that jacket apart with a wicked little grin plastered across his face. Another hand finally took hold of that unimpressed hat, and sent the garish thing flying across the room. The tophat was not invited. "What I'm thinkin'... We take this snazzy hay ya got here, and mess it up some?" The spellbound snake took only the faintest push to fall onto the bedding, frozen up like the frigid bitch he was.   
"Th-that'sss... I... Well you sssseee..." Angel was already all over him, planting glossy black kisses all the way down the serpentine Sir's neck, down over his chest, and along his taut stomach. Each kiss growing wetter and wetter, hotter and hotter, with trails of spit rising up after the freckled minx' smile. His many trained hands moved across the firm snake's body, feeling along his faintly defined, perky chest, and encircling each eye carefully (with the occasional wink to each one, given there was no exception to where exactly their attention was locked upon). "I already know what I see. A hotsy-totsy, ritzy wise-guy about to squeal like a moll snortin' a cadillac. I'm more interested in what I feel which is... oh kippy..." 

  
Surprisingly, both Sir Pentious and Angel froze up for a brief moment as the pornstar's pink claw shifted over one of the eyes, and found it surprisingly... solid.  
A cursory glance down informed the sly slut that the lone, low peeper didn't even move. Not an inch. "That's a funny lookin' thing... Yer not beating around the hay on me Penty, are ya?" His claws gently pocked and prodded the solid prosthetic, working themselves under the firm object. "N-ngha! Th-th-that'ssss n-none of your God-Damn b-busssinesssssss...angh...." Sir Pentious tried to protest, only serving to fuel the fire of Angel's interest in the lonely eye, so apart from its brethren.   
With a wink, the coy strumpet slid down the snake, making sure to push his perky rump up as he inspected the eye. It was clear that in public this thing was easily looked over, given how expertly crafted it was to match the other eyes... Truly, Hell's designs for the prim and proper snake included public humiliation. He'd have to make note of that for next time.  
"Ah really?" Angel teased, planting a kiss on the glassy orb. "And here I thought whoopee was my business. I even got a degree. A masters, no less... mhhhm... Now, I wonder, if I pull on this..." "D-DON'T! IT'SSS... Nnnghgghh!" Angel quickly muffled the aristocrat's squeal beneath his lips as his claws hooked around the eye, tugging on the rubbery underside of the object. Pentious' tight walls did their best to hold onto their welcome intruder, but unfortunately, the loosened rim could only pulse ineffectively as the rubbery plug edged free until finally, the two were beholden of that satisfying final release;

  
**POP!**


	7. S2C3: Soul-Shaking Satisfaction

**POP!**

  
The regal cobra practically melted right then and there. His body turned to dough beneath his sultry counterpart's claws, squirming and weakly thrusting his hips up like the pathetic bitch he was. Angel only pulled his lips away from the snake when he was satisfied, letting the spit dribble between them as he inspected his well-deserved prize.   
"Nghh... look at that. Yer a kinky bluenose at heart, eh?" Sir Pentious (and by effect, his hole) seemed to make frequent use of that plug. No doubt whenever he went out into public he was left feeling so very exposed, relying exclusively upon the plug to cover his scaled arsehole. It's not like he could wear pants after all. Angel leisurely drew his fingers over the soft pucker, pressing in gently to test it out. Soft rim, but so very tight inside. Even a little pressure caused the snake's lube to bubble out with a squeak.   
"Hah! You fuckin' jingle-brained slut. You make a habit out of grinding down on stuff, stretching this plug deeper, don'tcha?" Pentious covered his face, still writhing beneath the spider's delicate touch. Angel, as desperate a whore as he was, could not be satisfied with just one feature. No, he needed the full package.   
"M-mussst you?" The snake peeked out from between his glossy pink nails, equal parts mortified and titillated at the depravity of Angel, who was licking along Sir Pentious' slit, teasing out his length.  
"'Yesss I musssst'." the spider jeered, still holding the plug in one hand as he made quite the display of himself. Rising up with the grace of a swan, he made sure to ensure a more-than-satisfactory view of his firm cheeks between those equally firm thighs, keeping the cobra's gaze as he... ahh... 'reappropriated' that still-warm plug with a very satisfied gasp. Pentious had good taste - girth, and firmness with only a little give. It took a little effort, given how tight Angel's pulsing pucker could be, but once it gave way his eager, buttery insides swallowed the rubber toy up with glee. 

  
But this show was not without the accompaniment of a worthy treat. Thank Hell's many quirks for Angel's many arms, for he did not abandon Sir Pentious' over-excited orifice. With his fingers still pressed within that serpentine slit, and his arm extended before him, Angel rocked his taut hips back and forth. Each pseudo-thrust pushing his fingers deeper into Sir Pentious, earning a pleased trill from both parties. "Come on, don't leave me hangin' babe. I wanna see it. Whatcha packin'?" Oh, but he still had arms to spare, and they weren't about to remain locked beneath Angel's ribs any longer. These curious extensions crept up the cobra's chest, tightly gripped the mans blazer and yanked it open with one errant button hitting something made of glass behind the pair. That wasn't coming out of Angel's paycheck.  
"Snake with tits. Snake titties. Snitties." Angel's teasing earned a muffled chuckle out of the prim and quite hot haut-monde. So he did have a sense of humor it seemed. Or at least knew how to remain polite while his tits were exposed. Unlike Angel's (undoubtedly fake, but still unmistakably) glorious tits, Pentious' pair were pert, perky, and petite. The whore's claws immediately set to work, rubbing down onto the overstimulated aristocrat's chest. "Ah.... Ya packin' heat, Pentious? Or are you just happy to... oh... _Oh yessss._.." The whore could not help but drawl in a decidedly desperate manner, misplacing Pentious puppies in favour of his new favourite features.   
Sir Pentious was one very lucky snake. His entire sensitive length was easily as long as Angel's forearm (which, on its own is not the rarest thing in Hell, given the raw depravity of the place) but the tapered, retractable-twin-fang-bearing tip drew out into a thick, hole-ruining middle. It was lined in scales, with ridges firm enough to tug on any of his suitors' insides in the best of ways. Assuming anyone could easily fit down that girthy middle.  
This was in thanks in part to a set of three pink, glossy eyes that stared back at Angel, with the thickest and largest in the centre. Fortunately, they seemed very firm and were not soft in any way. It was like his cock took the best of a nice, rubbery knot, and a very girth anal plug, and fused them into one glorious piece of slimy, lube-soaked art. Angel was in all absolute honesty exceptionally jealous of just how well such a perfect piece of Hell was so undeservedly hidden away.  
If the titillating tour were to continue, our tourists of utter depravity would note that the base was distinctly thinner than the main body of the cock, but that only promised a satisfying fit when one made it all the way down the pair of twitching cocks.   
Plural.

"Where to even begin? With this one... or THIS one?" Angel rocked his hips from side to side, not daring to hide how the plug's base was pressing up and down against his panties. His tight hole twitching and stretching itself into a desperate, bubbling gape, evidently unable to wait for one of the Godless snake-dicks to be jammed right into it before trying to milk them dry. He simply couldn't hold himself back any longer - he needed this, payment be damned.   
Shaking fingers tugged at his underwear, accidentally ripping the fabric in his rushed desperation to be free of them, before throwing them away along with the plug, leaving his own smaller, but certainly not lacking, cock free to twitch and dribble atop Pentious, while his now unattended rear-hole twitched in some vain attempt of closing.  
Our darling snake, it seemed, did not know whether he was supposed to play along or just lay there. He tried to timidly rest a hand upon Angel's hips, but was quickly batted away with a hiss. "Y-you look nicccce?"  
"Shut up." He quickly closed his mouth, opting to be an obedient (albeit rather clueless) starfish for the time being.   
"Ah..ahhnnghh.... it's a bit tight, but..." Angel had taken a firm grip of one of Pentious' penises and was pressing it against his presently de-plugged, pierced pucker. His rim may have bore a faint gape, but that didn't mean it wasn't tight enough to struggle with the Snake's tip. It took a bit of effort, and more than a few embarrassing moments when Angel's hole squirted against the firm, twitching snake-cock, but eventually his trained derriere gave way, inspiring a loud yelp from Angel. "F-fuck... yessss....." Angel, despite how loud his shriek had just been, groaned out, digging his claws into the moaning serpent's tits 'for support' of course.   
The room was already growing hot, and steamy, and Angel's typically fluffy fur was beginning to grow slick with sweat. Undoubtedly a byproduct of being surrounded by satin, silk, and pillows. He had to occupy the hands that weren't immediately focused on Sir Pentious, gripping onto the sheets and bedposts as his soft, worn insides were finally stretched by something that wasn't made of rubber. How long had it been? A week, maybe two? Valentino hadn't.... no, he wasn't going to think of that douchebag right now. He was having more than enough fun without thinking about his work, and by the sultry, desperate look plastered on the aristocrat beneath him's face? He wasn't the only one.

  
He threw the snake a cheeky wink, and got to work. Sweat trickled down the aristocrat's rising, and falling chest as Angel forced more and more of that mighty length in him. Now Angel positively buzzed with pleasure at the sheer amount of effort it took to get it **IN** , before his hole finally swallowed the whole thing up with a wet squelch. He may have been able to keep his rim tight, but his insides were a very, very lost cause. So slimy, and soft, and eager for more of whatever the hell all of THIS was.  
Every breath he managed was marred with lust. Panting, cock twitching, through teary eye-liner-clad eyes he made out the faint bulge in his stomach from just how very deep Sir Pentious was. Any further and he was sure the snake would be fucking his guts, stretching out more than just the depths of his thoroughly explored fuckpit.   
Then, like a pro, Angel pressed his knees down into the soft bedding, pulling up with the ring of his asshole stretching and tugging down the length. Clearly, his mind wasn't the only part of him that wanted to just grind down with that heavy thing fully inside him, rather than the undoubtedly hole-ruining bliss that was to follow.  
Not that the satisfaction wasn't a guaranteed fact at this point, rather he was certain it would be a lot of work before he came. Soon he had managed to pull himself over the thick middle, sliding mostly off Pentious with a pleased mewl. There he was - panting as he stared down between his thighs in amazement at just how much cock there was twitching beneath him. And he still hadn't even touched the second one yet.   
He wasted no time, and was quickly sliding back down the length meer moments after his revelation, careful not to over-exert himself with his movements. He took great satisfaction in watching the snake squirm beneath him. Trapped between his powerful thighs, shivering with delight as that trained, 'tight' slutty spider arsehole expertly milked every dribble of precum out of him. In the gloom of the room, Angel could swear those big fuchsia eyes were glowing. Mesmerisingly so... like the richest of reds were bleeding into such toxic pinks...   
"Hey! Watch it!" His aesthetic appreciations were interrupted by a sharp, stinging sensation deep within him, which immediately prompted Sir Pentious to start trying to pull Angel off him.  
"I-I am sssso ssssorry! Th-thisss happenssss and it'sss r-rather unfortunate, p-pleassse, I'll have the maidsssss tend to your-" Angel melted onto Pentious, shaking, dribbling with ecstasy. His breath was hotter, his body positively steaming, Angel felt so very light-headed, and his cock couldn't stop twitching. 

  
"So that's what the... ngh.... those fangs were for...." He mused, grinding down against the new, numb, hot sensation deep inside him. Even his perky rump was growing anaesthetized, and while one would presume that meant he was no longer 'feeling it', they would be dead wrong. He couldn't get enough of it. "S-sssso you are not... crosssss?" Pentious tried, nervous that Angel had still not pulled off him. From where he was laying he could see the glowing, neon yellow venom bubbling rather noisily out of Angel's pulsing arsehole.   
The whore lifted his head from Pentious' chest, coming face to face with the frightened Serpent.   
"Babe, d-do that again and you'll get more than a discount... ngh.... And I don't give out price-cuts to nobodies."  
Hot, wet kisses were planted all over the utterly shocked snake-boy's neck, amidst the occasional playful nip as Angel started to raise the room's tempo. He drew up once more, staring deep into Pentious' eyes before drawing him in for a kiss. Not a playful, porn-friendly kiss either. He meant it - pressing his tongue up against Pentious own slithering licker, fangs faintly knocking against one another from the sheer gusto of it all, before finally our beloved cobra did as he was told and pressed his sharp, long fangs into Angel's flesh.   
There was a bit of resistance at first, and Angel quite nearly pulled his tongue back into his gob but quickly picked up on what was happening and pushed the slimy muscle against those venom-oozing fangs.   
A wet, knee-shiveringly delightful 'Snik!' sounded out, before more than enough of that hot, bitter, glowing goop was pumped inside Angel's mouth, and directly into his tongue. A numb mouth tends to loosen one's ability to swallow, and soon enough the neon slime was dangling from his chin as Pentious moved away from the kiss, and reapplied the technique to the whore's still sensitive neck. Again, and again, and again.

Every bite filled Angel with raw, dizzying bliss, like a straight shot of heroin. His limbs were numb and buzzing, and every inch of the slut felt hot. The walls lined in scales and gold began to... shift? No, they were slithering and coiling into the room and floor. Pentious body began to twist around and around the bed, tying the two of them up in his powerful, shiny embrace. Angel could feel the depths of his asshole stretch against the very intrusive cock inside, and looking down informed him that his own member had already came ontop of his partner first. That's a new one. 

What was burgundy became vermillion, and then cherry red. The air was heavy, and sweet, like a candy shop on a hot day. The poison was clearly clouding his mind, and every new bite made him groan out in lust. He felt Pentious growing desperate, thrusting up into Angel as best he could beneath the fluffy whore, until finally he blew his load too.   
The spider shivered with sick satisfaction as the hot cum spurted out of his pulsing, overflowing hole, soaking the lower half of Pentious in his own spunk. The sound was anything other than graceful, that's for certain.  
Instinctively, the numbed whore began to pull off, but was immediately reprimanded for his preemptive efforts by the snake's glossy claws pulling him back down onto the still-hard cock for more. "F-fuck you're a cocky bird... Gah!" Sir Pentious rolled the whore over, pressing the white-furred slut face-first into the bedsheets with a shriek of delight.   
He couldn't see much of Pentious from where he was, but he certainly could feel him. The raw, unmistakable heat rising off the serpent's shining, iridescent scales. The smell of sex, and... booze? He could taste wine, but he didn't remember drinking any recently. The air was heavy with smoke, and stank of sex and tobacco. Even the bedsheets seemed impossibly pleasant; spilling over onto the floor like water, flittering with every deep thrust. A new sensation hit him soon-after: something hard, and yet very familiar pressed against his maximum capacity pucker. "F-fuck! Do it, you bluenosed daisy cunt! Ngh!" Such vile language from such a thoroughly stuffed bitch! His hole gave way against the irresistible pressure, and that second, ridiculously thick cock forced itself into him.   
His walls had never been filled like this before. Every inch that pushed into him tested just how far from a virgin he was, making his hips strain to remain in place with just how wide Angel was being stretched. Pentious didn't abandon the pace with this new cock involved either, instead he kept at it. Each thrust of that snatched waist forced Angel's face into the sheets, squealing with delight with how tight he felt. Each time those two cocks pulled back, the whore's ruined arsehole spluttering cum and stretched down the lengths as best it could. Every time they pressed back in, Angel felt his hips struggle not to dislocate, barely registering that his legs felt like jelly. He was far too busy groaning into the sheets, eyes rolled up and tongue lolling out, the thoroughly fucked whore he was. His hole had long since given up on trying to milk Pentious dry and was just doing its best not to make the worst noises during. And even then it was failing in that regard.   
  
"Faster! Deeper, you prissy bitch! I w-want to taste your fucking cum!" Angel shrieked, shredding the bedsheets in his raw desperation. His fur seemed to be sparkling beneath the rich, almost blinding red light of the outside world. Every breath sent smoke twisting and spiralling beyond the sweaty bedding, twirling into the writhing woodwork that only further confused the drugged spider on where Sir Pentious ended, and his decor began.   
His wish might very well become a reality if he kept this up. No, at this point it was outright guaranteed. He barely even noticed as another orgasm hit him, his stomach and tits covered in numerous orgasms. His blazer was gone, and his stockings were torn and soaked in juices. The bitter taste of mascara also confirmed he looked like an absolute mess.   
Suddenly Pentious pushed in with fervour, forcing Angel's guts to rearrange just to fit the sheer volume of fat fucking cocks jammed into him, stuffed with so much hot cum that it flooded his mouth immediately.   
He could taste his ass in it, as well as Pentious cocks, and opened those glossy black lips to let the glowing cum flow out onto the bed with spluttering gags and sloppy retches. And still that serpentine seducer didn't stop. Angel would have suggested the unsuccessful villain take up a career in porn, if he wasn't already so clearly loaded with cash. The scaled body that wrapped around the bed shifted foot by foot, and pulled Angel up into its embrace. Within seconds the whore could feel his oxygen being cut off, swallowed up within those powerful muscles, tightly constricted as the never-ending Pentious continued to roll his hips into Angel. He looked so very different - his slitted eyes were so thin that the pornstar could barely see them, and there wasn't the slightest bit of typical arrogance within them. Actually, all of that bravado was gone. There was only the raw, pure lust. Something deep and primal had awoken beneath this (likely self-) knighted prude's glowing, animalistic gaze.   
"H-harder! Choke me Daddy!" He grunted, gasping for air instinctively as he was constricted further. His numb body growing yet further insensated, lips heavy and coated in sticky, bioluminescent cum while Pentious pulled his perverted prey in for a deep, venom overflowing kiss. This time Angel outright squirted down those massive dicks like a desperate bitch, unable to stop his body from melting into his powerful partners grasp, straining against his slowly closing eyes for more, more, oh so much more of whatever sick, twisted, Heavenly Hell this was. Finally the snake broke free, slithering away from Angel to leave the dazed whore gagging and coughing, and feeling very empty without those cocks. When the fluffy pornstar had finally recovered his breath he was all too aware of how exposed, and wide his studded hole was. Even his slimy, cum-soaked depths couldn't close with how thoroughly fucked he was, and from beyond those quivering, open thighs? He could see Pentious.  
Pentious, who was panting, shivering, and staring right back at Angel. His long, glossy black locks were a mess, and every inch of his naked body was glistening with sweat and juices. _He really was quite handsome_ , Angel examined through the dizzying fog of drugs and venom. So taut, and sleek, and that fucking waist stirred the whore's drained cock to twitch pathetically. All the while those animalistic eyes were glued to him. A glowing, raw, primitive gaze of need, and desire. He kept his slim torso just above the sheets as he moved, carefully, instinctively. Gliding towards Angel, who stumbled over himself, and slid onto all fours to embrace the serpent.

"Ngh... ya.... ya got any more tricks in there, Penty? Ey, I'm talkin' to ya..." He tried to plant a kiss on his partner but was pressed down. More? Surely not more, really, right? Even Angel had his limits - and he was rapidly approaching the point where he'd have to puke up all that cum he had swallowed, and have a well-deserved cigarette before continuing. Thank God there wasn't a cameraman involved, or he'd be just as soaked as the bed was.   
Oh, but there was so much more than Pentious here. This wild animal coiled around Angel once more, but only held him in place as that soft, dribbling pucker was presented, and promptly smushed onto the sweat-soaked spider's face with a squelch and a delighted "Mmmmph! Smother m-me! Put that snatched waist to use!" Angel knew exactly what he was meant to do (or so he thought), and immediately set to slobbering all over that pulsing hole. There was something in it too, something... firm? It pressed out of the lube-soaked hole, and the most depraved, joyous sensation filled the whore.  
Eggs! Pentious was forcing his eggs down into Angel's mouth. The sheer girth of the arachnid-stomach-bound orbs forced the whore to open his eyes and mouth wide, unable to stop the raw, pheromone-laden taste of cobra ass from dizzying his already ruined mind. His royal suitor's arsehole strained around the weighty orbs, pulsing before finally forcing it out with a wet, sloppy **'POP!'** and directly into Angel's open, eager maw, before another immediately took its siblings place. 

  
_I'm going to be a mommy!_ The messy slut thought, lust-crazed from the evening. Fucked dumb into a breeding-frenzy as he tugged and played with his own sloppy breeding-pit despite the horrid state it was in - constantly oozing and spitting out cum, leaving Angel's inner-thighs drenched in the luminescent, gooey bliss. Another weighty, firm egg forced itself out of Pentious' hole, and another. Each forcing the previous heavy orb deeper into the gagging bitch's throat, paying no heed to how rock hard the bred bitch was, or how his throat squirted lube so nastily.  
After what felt like several dozen of the thick eggs were forced into Angel's mouth, and lodged themselves in his throat, Pentious pulled off the whore, who immediately keeled over and vomited up the massive eggs with lube and hot cum flowing out of his mouth. Strands of the hot gunk connected his quivering lips to the orbs, and he was... admittedly disappointed to note that they were, in fact, just a set of anal beads. Eight eye-bearing beads that stared back at the messy slut.  
"Ghrk.... kinky..." Angel heaved, covering his mouth to no avail as another splutter of hot cum burst free from between his fingers. He pressed his thighs together, all too aware of how shameful him cumming from just that was, but still, one last weak dribble of cum escaped his throbbing, pale cock. 

  
Angel was, for the first time in a good long while completely and utterly spent. He fell down upon Pentious in a heap, shivering and drenched in God-knows-what. Through that haze of lust, and venom, he grinned up at Sir Pentious' beautiful face, and pulled his utterly repulsive lips up to his, embracing him in a sloppy, shivering kiss. Was it just him, or was the bed on a distinct... tilt? Or was that the entire room? His eyes were heavy, and kept sliding shut no matter how hard he tried to keep them open.  
He breathed a sigh of relief, finding himself pulled atop the panting serpent's own slick, shimmering body. The whole room felt so very vibrant, and was glittering just for him. It felt... so very nice. Just this moment. This sense of satisfaction.   
A distinct, twitching sensation made itself known against Angel's backside, and he weakly stifled his laughter with a groan. "Again? Really? Ah...H-hey!" Pentious presented his maw once more for the whore, showing off just how very, very, long his tongue was, and (of course) those two glistening, needle-tipped fangs, each of which featuring a drop of that exceptionally potent venom taunting, teasing and testing Angel's resolve.  
"Oh what the Hell?" He chided, wiping off an errant strand of cum from his cheek, and embraced Pentious for another mouthful of hot, glowing toxic love. The glittery, golden room grew brighter and brighter, colours blinding Angel as the steam of their lust twisted up amidst the coiling, scaled walls, and soon enough all feeling became focused upon the raw, inescapable lust the two shared.


	8. S2C4: Solemn Separations

  
Angel slid out of the saturated bed head-first. He was soaked in sweat, and all manner of personal fluids glued his typically fluffy fur to his firm figure. The room stank of sex and the unmistakable taste of the night before refused to leave his mouth. A splutter of glowing, bitter venom flooded his mouth, and dribbled out over his marred lipstick-clad lips without the slightest resistance from the drunken whore. Such an aesthetic shortcoming would have detracted from how good he looked, that is, if he presently resembled anything other than a mess. His hair was a tousled tangle, his wrists and thighs were pockmarked with fangbites, and his typically pristine makeup was an absolute travesty.   
The satisfaction he felt from such was unshakable, and made his wretched heart pound brightly within his breasted chest. There was being used in a particular fashion, and then there was knowing every inch of you had been used and you had been left drained, and ruined with lust to such a degree that you would be aroused for several hours after the fact. This morning cemented the latter as being a common trait with his scaled inamorato.   
The spider-slut pulled himself up upon shaking, torn-stocking-clad legs, inspecting the damage of the room. There was a veritable parliament of sex toys left all over the room - most of them dripping in lubricant. There was a broken window, and the bed was presently missing a leg. And his partner, still quite asleep, was entwined within the majority of the blankets. Figures.   
Without a shred of grace, Angel spread his legs and reached between them, feeling at his hole with a muffled moan of desperation filling the quiet room. A hot trickle of glowing neon-yellow cum leaked out of him and onto the floor, and were this being filmed he might very well have fallen to his knees to mop up the serpentine semen with his tits.   
He was tempted to all the same, but were he to indulge in that it would cost his client extra. And he had already racked up quite the bill, though a discount had been permitted in direct proportion to all that toe-curling, body-numbing venom he could supply. Unfortunately, every party must end. No matter how much you wanted to pretend the next day is never coming.

  
Cold water rained down from the showerhead, filling the antique bathtub with an icy inch of clear fluid, wherein Angel was presently curled up at the bottom. His knees were pressed up against his questionably perfect tits, sobbing quietly. The pastors had it wrong all along. Hell wasn't a torturous, fiery inferno; it was just Earth, but with more hangovers. Sometimes he felt filthy, and vile. If this was his soul, then why did it have to feel so physical? He leaned back and let the freezing water wash away the running mascara. He didn't really think there was a Heaven, and he didn't expect one when he was still alive.   
If he'd known this was what awaited him that cold 1947 night... He just might have gone to church a little more. "Stupid..." he mumbled, like a child. And for just a moment he felt completely and utterly exposed. 

  
"Mhngh... hello beautiful~ You're looking good today." Angel pursed his lips, letting that buttery sensation of lipstick coat every inch of his plush kisser. He smacked his lips, admiring his handiwork. "You're not half bad looking yourself, doll." He teased his reflection, pressing up his tits so that they strained at the collar of his booze-stinking, striped blazer. A gentle sway of his hips confirmed that his panties just barely peeked out below enough to show off his junk bulging against the silky, black fabric, and with a little twirl? That his surgically perfected, glorious ass was both A+ Grade, and taut enough to crush an apple.   
It took a lot of blowjobs to pay off all the cosmetic upgrades required to fix his warped, twisted body. To make it beautiful again. Or at least as close to what it had once been as Valentino could afford. Not that the bastard's intentions were even remotely magnanimous. Not that Angel would ever be able to forget the black-sludge soaked, toothy multi-eyed horror he had been when he first arrived.   
"If I weren't me, I'd take this fine piece of arse out to dinner. First, we'd eat lobster, then I'd ask you to pay, and then I'd get down on all fours under the table..." The pornstar chuckled as he reached between his tits, and produced a bottle of perfume which he applied liberally, and then some. The nauseatingly thick scent of rose and cherry made him cough, but at least it covered everything else up.  
That is, assuming nobody got too close to him. But by then it would be far too late.

The way smoke mixed with the red light of Pentagram City's skyline was one of Angel's favourite things about smoking. Not that he made a habit of touching the stuff if it wasn't dirt cheap. He took another puff of the lit cigarette holder, letting the bitter, distinct taste of angel dust mixed with tobacco linger on his tongue before inhaling, and exhaling with a shiver of delight. From up here, Hell looked... small. He knew it stretched on beyond the horizon, and every inch of it was packed to the brim with demons. Sometimes he just wished there was something else. "Maybe toots is right..." He mumbled, casting those mismatched eyes across from this rickety, gilded mansion to another much older, and far more dilapidated mansion stacked atop itself several times over, again and again, far, far across town. Happy Hotel. What a dump. 

  
By the time he returned to the bedroom, his 'temporary employer' had managed to unwrap himself from the blankets (complete with his cheekless rump pressed high in the air), but was still quite asleep. Figures. Angel didn't intend to stay much longer anyway, but he did permit a chance to eye off the snake's figure. Those hips were undoubtedly grippable, and practically scream for the oggling pervert to climb atop them, and ride down on them with both of his legs wrapped around that snatched waist. Then again, he was still coming down from the previous night's venom-induced high, and those particularly lengthy dicks each featured a set of fangs that quite literally dribbled the addictive stuff. A black, glossy-little kiss was planted upon the snobbish debonair serpent's cheek, and with that, the pornstar began his departure.   
The long walk back to the film studios. 

  
He'd have to catch a ride into town, lest he wanted to break another heel walking down through these weirdly twisted woods that surrounded the estate. Maybe a taxi? A quick check inside his purse revealed that his funds included a tuppence, and what appeared to be some pubic hair. Gross.  
Soon enough the silken slut had reached the woodside highway, the sky was dark and clouds weighed down upon the world with unmistakable intention. Angel wasn't sure what was worse - the fact that it rained blood here, or the fact that it made his mouth water whenever it did. The glowing pentagram that floated high above all Hell's denizens was barely visible through the gloom. Hope filled the powdered whore's heart as car lights approached from further down the road. The hope quickly died as the car sped past with someone shouting "FREAK!" out the window, leaving Angel hurling back a few particularly nasty words about the driver's mother, and what she enjoys doing with sailors.   
All that remained by the cracked road was Angel, and the long dried remains of some demon who had been run down several weeks ago.   
Alone. Again.

  
All was not lost, for at least he was enjoying a particularly nice buzz deep inside, making his legs quiver as he walked. As the sensation grew stronger, he began to notice a rhythm to the arousal. Something deep, deep within him was making his breath heavy, and his knees press together.   
"Not again..." he mumbled, casting a quick glance up and down the road. For once he was grateful to be alone. His hot breath stank of snake venom, and perfume. Every inch of him was tingling, crying out for him to give up on walking despite the deep blush that had spread over his entire chest.  
He took one last step, stumbled, and had to press up against one of the rotting trees for a moment. "Oh!" He cried out, hands reaching between his panty-clad cheeks. Urgency demanded him to dig those claws inside, tugging at his tight rim before release finally made itself manifest. He flicked open the phone with a breathless "Hello?"


	9. S1C4: An IMPressive Display

  
Blitzo fell onto the floor, gagging and retching up the hot, bitter taste of Princely arse juices. The clear liquid splattered on the ground, spreading across the marble floors with Blitzo's messy face staring back up at him. "Come now Blitzy," Stolas teased, still shaking as he rested his head in Angel's lap for those gloved claws to gently rub and massage his scalp. A Prince does, after all, require constant physical affection. It's just so hard having to rely on grinding your aching, desperate hole down on a squirming imp for orgasm.   
"I didn't squirt that much." The foul retch (followed by a squirt of swallowed juices escaping his mouth) from the scowling red demon begged to differ. This poor fool slid onto his back, panting for air as he observed what was once the most beautiful suit he had ever possessed. The entire front was covered in juices and feathers, not to mention the fact that several buttons were missing and it featured more than a few wayward claw gashes. He felt tired and certainly looked it with the bags under his eyes. There's only so long one can suffer before they start to waste away.   
Unfortunately, Angel noticed this and aimed to put his freshly acquired, shared toy back in line. With all the grace of a leopard, the pink pornstar slunk away from the purring owl and over the smaller imp, angling his length down at Blitzo.   
"Go on sugar. Open up." His words were as commanding as they were positively soaked in strawberry liqueur, and Blitzo was forced to oblige. He opened his maw, lube still oozing out from between his fangs for the furry minx, permitting the substantial cock to glide down, over his tongue, and properly through the poor imp's throat. He gagged heartily, straining around the girth, though this only served to thrill Angel all the more when feeling the tight throat convulse about his cock.   
"F-fuck yeah, choke on it babe!" He squealed, delighted as he started to bounce on top of Blitzo. His smooth, soft balls slapping against the soaked multicoloured plaything's face, arse ground down against him so that just in case by some God-given grace he managed to take a breath, it would be tainted with the smell of twitching Angel tush. Choking, fluids spluttering, the night was a dizzy mess.  
There he was; mouth wide open, tongue squirming against the (at least compared to how much his poor mouth actually COULD open) comparatively gigantic dick, putting his throat to work as he began to eagerly suck it. Oh God, he was getting into it. He was getting into it HARD.   
Angel pressed down once more, putting those powerful thighs to work with an awe-inspiring squat, shaking with glee as he let loose his load deep into Blitzo. Unfortunately, the imp could only hold so much, and the excess made itself very present by bubbling out around the thick length. 

  
"Mhmngh... take it you bitch." Stolas teased, clearly not knowing his bounds as the little fleshlight fell back upon the liquid-covered floor. Poor Blitzo was a wreck. Shivering, shaking, stinking of demon cum. He was... was he made for this? It was so hard to make sense of anything through the thick haze of his stupor. Clearly, he hadn't had enough to drink. He reached those tiny little claws for Stolas martini glass, who leaned over to admire his darling pet. Firm, taut stomach tight, demanding Blitzo's kisses down the length of it. "M-Master..." He tried, desperate for... something. He really needed that booze now.   
Thankfully, Stolas wasn't always a belligerent, disregarding owner when it came to his pets. He picked the ruined Hell-denizen up by the collar, as if he were a cat, and quite literally carried him to the bar where he promptly plopped the disoriented little thing down. Little? By Hell's bells; he was a full-grown imp! A particularly tall imp to boot! Though never higher than dick-sucking level. He tried so very hard to avoid it - in crowded buses, in trains, walking down the street. Eye-to-cock with bulge after thick, oh-so jaw-shatteringly-thick bulge.   
The bartender soon appeared to serve them, as if from smoke. Ready to attend to the regal prince's demands with every inch of his being. "See, Blitzy? Obedience has its perks." Stolas chimed in, taking a seat beside his pretty little plaything. The imp tried to reach for his owner's length, but his hand was slapped away before it could reach the long, throbbing bird-dick. He would have to wait. At least waiting involved drinks - shots, no less. Row upon row of the murky, brown liquid was poured right before his eyes (even if he was barely above the bar's counter whilst sitting down). He felt so tiny beside Stolas, and soon enough Angel, who was presently rubbing something undoubtedly morally dubious into his gums.   
"Do you like games, my precious little arse-sucking slut?" Without fail, Blitzo opened his mouth immediately to suggest he was something other than that, but our dear, wretched Prince was having none of it. The leggy DILF raised a shot glass, making sure the pair of wrangled whores could see the fumes rising off the liquor before he downed it with all the grace and majesty of a freshman college slut. Classy.  
"It's a simple game. I know the minds of imps can be so very dull, so I'll try to bring this down to your level, dear. I say something, and if you think it's hot then you take a drink. Then you say something, and we drink, and then so on, and so forth. Et cetera, et cetera. As if we'd actually listen to you... hah! Now, you understand, of course, right dearie?" His large, red eyes lingered on the timid boss. The soggy little man felt so very on the spot, nervously cupping the shot glass in his hands. Shouldn't he have smaller shots, given his size? This did not strike him as fair. Actually, this whole evening was rigged against him.   
"S-sure, Stolas." He whimpered, looking up at the two towering terrors, with their exposed tits, and tight, glorious stomachs. It was a good thing he and his kind were born in Hell, because there was no Heaven for him after these thoughts.

  
The Prince was the first to raise his shot glass, leading by example. "Tell us, Angel; What were you doing last Saturday night?" The spider burrowed his brow, frowning down at the glass. What WAS he doing last Saturday night? It was all such a blur. "I remember... Bein' on my knees in a bathroom, with a guy standing over me?"   
Stolas leaned in, clearly enraptured by the present tale. "Yes? Oh do go on." How fresh. Angel took this as his moment to shine. All lights were on him, leaning back on the stool with an elbow on the counter.   
"So I was suckin' this guy off, right? No clue who he was, but he had this big fuckin' cock. I'm talking huge here, dolls. The whole nine yards, and then some." Blitzo immediately took a drink, downing the whole thing in one gulp before slamming the glass down on the counter. It tasted absolutely vile - bitter and raw, and still somehow not strong enough to wash out the taste of Angel and Stolas.  
"And I'm, like, suckin' it as best I can, but there's just so much. My tits are covered in spit and cum, and he's just ploughing away at my face. No gabbin'; even my guts hurt from how long he was. So he's usin' me, right? And all of a sudden he pulls out, and I'm all like 'Hey, what do ya think you're doing? You ain't done?' and tells me to get on all fours and use my tits to make him finish." Angel draws his tongue over the glass, slowly taking in the flavour before swallowing the whole thing. Blitzo is squirming in his seat, and Stolas is resting two feathery hands on the imps shoulders, keeping him in place. The throbbing, twitching, awe-worthy cock standing at full attention between his thighs made it clear enough just how easy it was to work him up. As if him being on the very edge of his seat didn't make it clear.   
"And?" Blitzo asked, shivering. "And what, doll?" the powdered whore teased, throwing the smaller man a wink. "D-did... you know? Did you do it?" he nervously cupped his drink, red claws shaking as he did his best to keep the dark liquid from sloshing over. Wasn't this shot glass empty before? 

  
Angel let loose a cackle, stretching out on his seat. Long, shiny boots extended nearly two metres in awe-inspiring length away from his gorgeous figure. "'Course I did, sweet-thing. I bet if you kissed these au naturale puppies you'd still taste him." Stolas stifled a laugh. Sure; those were real. And he was a chaste nun who spent her evenings feeding the poor and whipping herself at night for the shame of her thoughts. Actually, that last part didn't sound half bad...  
Blitzo went to take another drink, but once again the Prince intervened. He scooped up the drink, and drew it into his mouth, then leaned down. Low. Lower. Low enough for Blitzo to reach up, and plant his own lips against Stolas beak, who let the bitter liquid flood both their mouths as his slimy, thick tongue mixed with the ex-circus-freak's own. "Gross." Angel chided, but promptly took his own drink down.  
When Stolas broke the kiss, he immediately climbed atop the counter, sending several intricately detailed bottles crashing to the floor (as well as all those carefully poured shot-glasses), and the barkeep to the back-room in order to 'go fetch more' in some desperate attempt to flee this raw depravity. Stolas slinked across the bartop with the grace of a dancer, shifting his hips with every movement as he made his perky, grippable rear all too evident. "I've got one too, you know. I'm no boy scout, after all."   
"Are there even boy-scouts in Hell?" The little imp asked, feeling the liquor hitting him and sending his head on a merry-go-round once more. Fortunately, the Prince didn't care too much for what Blitzo said anyway, and continued on his rant. 

  
"I had a similar encounter, my fuzzy floozy in fetching attire. I was at this bar, with an absolutely gorgeous short-stack with an... mhmm... equally gorgeous cock. I had had a few drinks, and I was feeling quite gorgeous. I was in my prime; this perfect, silky, well-groomed piece of glorious owl ass." He slapped his ass - hard - making it jiggle before the enraptured imp, then dug his taloned claws into the sensitive flesh, and spreeeaaaad. Showing off his loose, winking arsehole. The smell of sweat and lube hit Blitzo with the force of a hard backhand, making his mouth water.   
"So he took out that fat fucking cock, a real stunner, I tell you. And he jammed it right up my fertile arse. Ploughing this Daddy until he was squealing like a schoolgirl. Go on, Blitzy-babe. You don't think I'm a liar, do you?" He didn't need to be told twice, and stumbled up onto the bar-stool (after, of course, downing the second comparatively cup-sized shot of liquor). The seat wobbled at first, but Angel (ever the pragmatist) slid off his own in order to keep the rocky furniture steady. How kind of him...?   
No, he absolutely just wanted to eye off that bubbly, glorious rump. So firm! So smol! He could practically swallow the whole thing up in one bite. Blitzo fell forward, each claw taking a firm grasp of all that DILF-arse, kneading the flesh in sheer wonder of the whole thing. Hell, this really was a perfect ass. Or maybe that was the liquor talking? It was so hard to tell... among other hard things in the room.   
"You know, Blitzy, usually when someone like me wants to be fucked, they GET fucked. Why exactly are you wasting my time?" Well how could he disobey such an obvious command? His dizzy gaze lurched down, with sharp claws taking a firm grip of his multi-coloured cock of copious quantity, steadying the massive length. Were he not currently holding onto Stolas' arse he might have fallen right off the chair.   
Blitzo raised the heavy thing up, pressing the pierced tip right against Stolas hole which immediately elicited a shrill trill of delight from the older man, and his loose fuckpit returned the cue by opening partially, winking in expectation as it eagerly tried to suck the massive dick in. Who knew such a loose, used hole could be so flexible? Who knew how the hell Stolas was able to generate such a sense of suction with his worn pucker?  
The engulfing sensation pulled the imp right along, who began to press forward deeper, and deeper into the silky smooth hole. Admiring how the grey rim seemed to open and close around the borderline full-demon-fist-thick dick, rich shivers of delight coming out of the pair all the while.   
"Ngh... stretch it, you fucking whore... I want you to gape me like I'm laying an egg!" That... was weird, thought Blitzo. But he couldn't deny that soft, slick, slimy, sordid and surely salivation deserving sensation had him quivering with delight. He pressed deeper, and deeper, sinking into the grey hole, shaking with pleasure as the bubbling asshole swallowed every ridge, every stud, and every spike until Blitzo could feel his admittedly quite sizable balls slap against Stolas' own pair. No homo. 

  
He could feel the sheer volume of juices and lube overflowing around the base of his dick and pulled free to admire the many strands of clear goop sticking between his burned, soggy leggings, and the Prince of Hell.   
"I said gape me, you dressy cunt!" Stolas barked, shaking the imp from his fascinations, forcing him to buck forward suddenly. Stolas rocked his soft rear back and forth, urging 'Blitzy' on more. Once more that thick length pressed in, then out, then back in... oh God did the owl feel amazing. So soft! So impossibly perfect for Blitzo! Just the perfect girth, the perfect give, the perfect take...   
"F-fuck you're amazing!" Blitz spoke up, thrusting in balls deep, then pulling out to relish the squeeze of Stolas' arsehole right down his length, then right back in with a loud slap of sweaty flesh against sweaty.... well, feathers. A new sensation made itself present this time - something hard, and thick pressed up against Blitzo's jiggling rear. He let out a cry of joy as he felt his own tight, pulsing hole stretched open on Angel's cock. Familiar furry hands danced across his torso, pressing him down into Stolas as the three men groaned in delight.   
This was so wrong - the bar was so nice, so clean, so... high end! And here he was pounding the highest of ends, while having his own rear violated. His impish little tail curled around Angels leg, desperate to urge the spider on. Faster, faster, oh god did he need it faster! The wet slap of flesh on flesh, the panic, the sheer ecstasy of it all! Breath heavy, panting upon eachother's necks, the stink of booze heavy on all three. Balls slapping together, crotches smushed and ground against perky arses. He couldn't take it much longer! Like an animal, Blitzo bit into Stolas' trapezius, digging his sharp fangs in, refusing to stop when he tasted blood. The owl knew exactly what that meant, and groaned through the pain and pleasure.   
"D-do it! Cum inside your owner! F-fucking fill me up you dirty little bitch!"   
Blitzo did exactly that. He practically toppled into the orgasm, clawing at Stolas back as he desperately pushed in his length deep as it could manage. Load after load of hot, glowing cum began to fill Stolas, who in turn squealed like a schoolgirl. Shivering, shaking, crying out with pleasure whilst his asshole squirted hot juices, and then? A veritable gallon of lava-like cum, which puddled on the counter and dribbled onto the floor beneath the orgasming imp, singing the wood panelling. Hot, sticky, and so very destructive! Shivering, groaning aloud, so much cum! Every twitch of Blitzo's cock only serving to soak Stolas' insides with more of the glowing liquid satisfaction.

  
Angel took a hold of the owl's talons and pressed himself so deep into Blitzy that the imp could feel the tip of Angel's cock straining his stomach. All that exertion, that passion, all that raw, unbridled lust finally hit its peak, and for a few moments time remained still.   
It was Stolas who fell first, sliding off Blitzo with a borderline braindead moan of bliss. Over the counter he went, landing behind it with a dumb look plastered across his face, and a symphony of vile sounds as copious amounts of cum spurted and jettisoned out of his wildly pulsing, gaping ass. Angel let himself out of Blitzo, admiring the clean gape before the little demon collapsed on the floor in front of him with his plush rump in the air, and gigantic cock still dribbling hot cum in quantities that would earn applause from even Valentino.   
Angel, with shaking steps, climbed back atop his seat and lit himself a cigarette. Shivering, squirming as his own orgasm was just so very, very close.  
"So round two, right babes?"


	10. Intermission

  
The water in the bathtub was ice cold, having long since lost its warmth. All that remained of the heat in the bathroom was the faint trace of condensation on the mirror. He raised his claws, gently twirling the tips of them in the clear liquid. Little waves cast from his own tiny storm. A maelstrom in a teacup.   
He leaned back, and let out a sigh through his yellow fangs, staring up into the cracked ceiling paint. Despite such a thorough inspection of the bathroom's contents, the multicolored imp could not find any bath-bombs, bath-salts, bath-milk... Nothing. Only a bottle of bubble bath soap which unfortunately was empty, and had been left by a particularly careless troublemaker the last time he had used the bath.   
"Fuck." He groaned, looking down at himself. He was a good looking imp. He was slim and elegant. There was so much to be appreciated about him beyond just his.... well, his dick. There was a lot of dick. Years spent walking tight-ropes and dangling off swings had taught him how to keep it all tucked away, but still, it seemed demons could sniff it right out. Or maybe it was just because imps tended to be so small in stature that what they had could just be taken?

This was, after all, Hell. A Daemonarchy backed by the rule of the strong. There was what one could do, and what one could not do. Territory was divvied by those that could take it by force. Wealth was captured by those who already had enough to spare. Even love belonged to those so beautiful they found such an old-fashioned thing dull and lacking.   
But what about dear, sweet Blitzy? His failing business doomed from before its conception? His diminutive height bound to him by his species? A lonely heart left to beat slowly beneath his easily crushable chest?   
Maybe love wasn't something he deserved. Maybe he was just what others saw; a piece of meat to be jammed inside them, and left soaked in their sin? He felt like that. By the bitter apple of Sin did he feel that. And yet there was something so primal engrained deep within. Something that told him to obey. To worship them. Centuries of his kin spent polishing sharp, studded heels of Hell-Lords, bringing them the rare souls of 'innocent' sinners wrongly dragged down here. Life simply was not fair. It wasn't fair that... that he needed this. He needed this so badly. He needed those firm boots pressing down on his back, grinding him into the dirt. He needed that thrill of dominance, to be thrust into the open on a leash. Well, maybe not on a leash.

Okay, absolutely on a leash.

Knuckles rapped upon the door, interrupting his rare train of strangely arousing, yet distinctly melancholic thoughts, followed by a familiar, squawking voice. "What did I say about using our bathroom?! Get out of there!" the shrill Moxxie shouted.   
"I'll get out when I God-damn please, 'DAD'!" The circus-freak shouted back, his words tainted with a bitter hiss, before he sunk down into the cold water. 

That bitch was getting a pay-cut. 


	11. S2C5: Surreptitious Situations

  
"Really? Already? Again?" Husk rolled over, turning his back to Angel as he grumbled something about it being the porn-star's fault. The fluffy floozy hissed, face twisted into a look of peak annoyance while he threw his arms up in defeat. "Ugh!" The barbs he could deal with, even the punitive length given it had something resembling girth down the scant few inches, but how often he was left high and dry (or more accurately sticky and unsatisfied) was coming to something of a head. But not all was bad within the stained, fur-laden bedsheets, right?   
His claws crept over the cat-owl's back, slinking down the curves of those gorgeous wings, complete with a gentle peppering of kisses leading down from the grumpy lover's shoulder.   
"Well at least you'll help me finish, right?" Angel certainly knew how to make his words purr with excitement, putting his glamour-show charm on. Husk only grunted at him, shifting away. No, it really was all bad.   
It took Angel a few moments before he was absolutely certain he wasn't going to find any release here, and then he let out a loud huff, making sure what few other occupants within the Hotel could hear him as he left the bed.  
"No, nevermind me! I'll just take care'a myself! No, please; you just stay there, 'snookums'." He slammed the door closed, the force of which dropped a poorly secured photo with a loud crash. Several seconds later the door reopened with Angel's face poking in once more with a whisper.  
"Unless you want to...?"   
Nothing. The door was shut forcefully afresh, leading to another wayward frame to hit the floor, and Husk left well enough alone in his cramped bed with only a white mess beside him where Angel had just been.

The white-furred minx lit himself a cigarette while stalking the grimy, dilapidated halls of the hostel. "Men. Fucking men..." he cursed under his breath, letting free a cloud of tobacco smoke. The Hotel really was a shit-heap; the wallpaper was peeling, the wood was termite infested, every corner was filled with abandoned webs, and only half the lights worked. And even then they flickered more often than not. It was a wonder this dump hadn't been condemned centuries ago.  
The unfortunate truth of the matter was that rent here was better than cheap. It was free. Sure, he was sober (sometimes), and couldn't snort dust (except when he managed to excuse himself to 'go powder his nose') like a cheap hooker in Santa Monica on a Friday night, but if he screwed up all it took was a bat of his long lashes and a flash of those puppy-dog eyes, and he was living large once more. Suckers. Well, mostly. At least Charlie was nice enough. Vaggie on the other hand...  
The elevator dinged as it hit the floor level, iron doors creaking as it struggled to turn its rust-coated gears. One of the mangy metal openings didn't even make it past the half-way mark, and dear Angel just outright abandoned the thought of waiting as he squeezed by. Bugger it, right?   
"Oh hey there!" Came an agonizingly chipper voice, courtesy of the 'front desk staff'. Her large, bulbous eye danced over every inch of Angel. "You're heading out pretty late, aren't you? Do you have something to do? Is it illegal? You know, a girl like you shouldn't be heading out at midnight, because it's Hell out there and that's a dangerous place!" Angel let out a loud, drawn-out groan as he sailed right past the jittering hot-rocket.   
"Maybe you should take an umbrella? It might rain, and-!" The rotting entrance-door was pulled closed with a loud 'BANG', leaving Niffty all alone. "Everything is fine." She mused, humming to herself in that ever-present cheery tone.

  
Angel kicked the vending machine, cursing every inch of its brightly coloured signage for taking his cash and not delivering the promised goods. At least this machine didn't play a low-quality laugh-track when it had run dry. That was his last... well, anything. His purse was empty - again. The pornstar looked over what he kept in there; sickly sweet perfume, glossy lipstick that was definitely stolen, a bottle of cheap, itchy emergency lubricant, some coupons that were expired before they were even printed, a... bottle cap? And a few sticks of gum. He tore open the packaging and stuffed the candy into his gob. Yuck - Mint.   
It seemed tonight was not, unfortunately, going to be as wild a night on the town as he had hoped. Sure, he could sweet-talk his way into a club (and boy were there more than a few around), but that'd just end with him getting railed in an alley. Which was fine and all, but he'd be lucky to turn out a Franklin for that row. That would cover a few nights of drinking, sure, but he knew he'd have to turn up at the porn studios sooner rather than later if said venture was endeavoured upon. He was certain he didn't hate the job. In fact, he genuinely enjoyed it. He loved it all - the flash of cameras, the blinking red lights, those hours spent with someone to wrap his legs around and feel push inside him... Angel bit his lip, squirming a little as he tried to bite down the unwanted, twitching length of arousal making itself known against the inside of his panties. A few young demons had spotted him, their eyes dancing from Angel's glare to his obvious sexual frustration.  
"The fuck you's lookin' at? Beat it!" He barked, sending the laughing trio on their way. Fuck; this really wasn't his night. He sunk down the side of the vending machine, pressing his perky rump down onto the concrete with a sigh. Tired eyes gazed up at the night sky. Even in the black of the early morning the pentagram high above was visible - an ever-present reminder of just where they all were. Fuck it. Angel flicked open his phone, busting open the messaging system as he began composing something of an apology. 

  
To: FUZZ-BALL

  
[heyy u sholdnt be mad. im not mad. we can try again, mayb?? ;P (63/160)]

  
The gum tasted absolutely awful, but at least it gave Angel something to chew on. He pressed his soft, bare lips together and blew a slow, deliberate bubble with the gum before it popped in his face. Yeah, this wasn't working. He quickly deleted the message.

  
To: SUGAR-DADDY

  
[so (2/160)]

  
Deleted. He scrolled through the remaining contacts that weren't just fans he felt obliged to add during studio meet'n'greets. So many clammy, soggy hands. No amount of hand-sanitizer would ever be enough to wipe away that gross sensation.   
Charlie was... most likely asleep, and Vaggie would have set both their phones to silent. Dad? Hah! Good one. And Arackniss was just as much a lost cause. Maybe moreso. What about Molly? Well, sure she'd let him stay for the night, and he did love her the most. The problem was she could be a bit... Molly.  
That didn't leave a lot of options. There was... one more, come to think of it. Angel fiddled through his purse, pulling out a business card of all things. The edges were dog-eared, but the golden detailing was still visible. I guess you get what you pay for when it comes to quality, but hey; it was a lead, right?

To: Unknown Number

  
[u up? i no i am ;P watcha doin? busy?? too busy for me? (55/160)]

[cum on i no your awake. u gotta be (34/160)]

[dont leave me hangin here toots im boooooooooored i wanna have sum fun! (71/160)]

  
He was surprised to receive a reply so quickly, half expecting it to be an automated message failure notification. Perhaps he wasn't the only one up so late after all? It wouldn't surprise him that the bow-tie-bearing bastard had his minions working around the clock. Running a business in Hell was no easy feat, doubly so for those who have their eyes on complete demonarchal domination. 

  
From: Unknown Number

[Good evening, sir or madam or other! Sir Pentious' Villainous Services are open 12pm to 5pm for any interested applicants. We regret to inform you that if you are presently seeking an audience with the Lord of the house, we cannot oblige as he is: _Jussst tell them I'm working or ssssomething! And you had better not write down what I am sssaying asss I sssay it, you unhatched ssssychophantsss!_ ]

  
Well, that wasn't going to dissuade Angel. He still had a few tricks up his sleeve. If he knew anything about business numbers, it was that they usually did a terrible job at call direction. Which meant if he added a 1 at the end....

  
The phone line rang through - the trill ringing sensation accosting Angel's ears. He was left hanging for almost a full minute, staring up at a small assortment of curious, corrupted crows that were wondering if the furry whore was dead already. Finally, the phone picked up.  
"Yesssss? What? Who isss thisss? How did you get thissss number?" Ah, that familiar, hissy-prissy voice, accompanied with the whizz and pop of several doohickies, whatchamacallits, and extremely fine-tuned clockwork thingamabobs in the background. It was all very scientific, of course.   
"Heyyy... Penty, babe?" Angel moaned into the receiver, laying it on as thick as he could manage. Something metal hit the floor on the other end with a loud clank, and there was a brief scrambling for of limbs struggling to retrieve whatever that was. "Yessss? Who... Who issss calling me on the telegraph? Isss thissss Alassstor? Come to gloat, have we?" Our wayward seducer groaned aloud. Of course Pentious thought he deserved a nemesis like Alastor still, despite how thoroughly trounced he had been less than a week prior.   
"No, it's me. Come on, you know who it is."  
There was a pause. "S-Ssson?"  
He chuckled at that, blowing another bubble with the now flavourless gum. Yeah, no shit the gum didn't last long - it was Hell. "Only if I get to call ya Daddy, hot stuff."   
"I.... excusssse me?" A hand covered the receiver, muffling the rooms audio as Pentious shouted at his servants. "What do you mean you haven't the faintesssst as to the number? How did it get through? What am I paying you? No, don't ansssswer that... Ah hem, er... ssssorry, have we met?"   
"Oh have we!"  
Pentious hissed, clearly not one for games. Unfortunately for him, Angel was always up to mischief. If he wasn't going to get his rocks off right now, then he was at least going to have some fun.  
"Stop me if this sounds familiar, 'kay? I'm pressed up against you. You're squirmin', and writhin', and my hands are all driftin' down your chest. My many, many hands, all of which are on the beam with where to touch. You feelin' me yet?"

  
"Angel?" And the last horse crosses the finish line. 


	12. S1C5: IMPulsive needs

  
"Come on, Moxxie! Have a heart!" Millie pleaded, gesturing at the closed window. Beyond its boundary two large, heavy eyes twinkled up at the pair of imps. The air was icy, and the rumble of distant neon-red lightning echoed the unmistakable threat of rain approaching. The hot-rocket gal pressed her tiny claws together, begging for her bratty (and only marginally taller) husband to change his mind.   
Ever the stalwart champion of stubbornness, Moxxie refused to budge. Arms crossed, still dressed up in his fancy little coat; no doubt he only finished sorting through the companies' 'questionable' tax files a few hours prior. "Millie, no. No. You can't keep letting in..." he rolled his wrist, trying for the right phrase. "...Strays. They're not meant to come inside."  
"But he'll be good this time! He's not some wild animal. He's housetrained." She tried, casting a nervous glance over at the wayward creature of note this dark evening. The dull, outdated lights of their kitchen cast an almost green glow across every inch of the cheap apartment. A roach scuttled by unheeded. 

  
"Oh, so the last time you let him in and he pissed on the rug, that was a fluke?" The more practical-minded of the two pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing aloud. "You know if you keep letting him in he'll think he owns the place. And you can't keep feeding him either."  
"But who else will feed him?"  
"I...I think he will! He should know how to feed himself! Go! Shoo! Get out of here!" the white-haired imp barked, trying to scare away the pathetic creature. It curled up into a ball, hissing at the rude little man.   
"Moxxie! You're scaring him. Where else is he going ta go?"   
A sigh of exertion slid right out of Moxxie. He knew he was losing this battle. But that didn't mean he was going to surrender. "Home. Anywhere that isn't here. Literally... anywhere."  
"But what if he doesn't have someplace ta' stay? What if he's all alone?"   
Moxxie cast a wicked glare at the unwelcome guest. "Good."

  
Now it was Millie's turn to act defensive. "How dare you! I thought you were nicer than that. I thought I knew you..." She bit her lip, digging those sharp little fangs held behind pretty smiles into her soft, red lips.   
Oh. Oh no. Moxxie knew exactly what was coming. Millie had already won the argument - now she was just running her victory lap.   
"You know I love it when you're mean... You're not gonna leave a gal hangin', are ya?" The tips of her claws pitter-patter'ed up Moxxie's chest, taking a firm grip of his red bow tie with the enthusiasm of an over-eager succubus.   
"I... I... well... you uhm... Y-you make a good point?" The shivering, white-haired imp tried, nervously stroking his jagged horns.   
"Great! Then he can come in. The sooner this is behind us the sooner I can get those pants off ya." Millie turned away from her husband, destroying a well-deserved 'What?' with the sultry swing of her hips. Poor Moxxie could only sigh. This was it. This was how he slowly but surely lost the last few strands of control he still had on his life.   
"Come on in, ya poor thing." the sultry seductress smiled, opening the kitchen window for the wayward creature. It slid right into their home like the snake that it was, before standing up upon both legs and brushing down its fancy little coat. 

  
"Thanks Millie."   
"No problem, Boss."


	13. S2C6: Sangria-Stained Side-Streets

  
The flash of passing street lamps. Neon red lights mix into the vibrant blue smoke, melting into the crimson night sky. The raw smell of booze; toxic, pungent, nauseating. The clamour of demons from all walks of life jeering and taunting one another, all ready to tear each other to shreds at the drop of a hat. The taste of blood, teeth-rottingly-sweet 'low-fat' sodas, and hawked MDMA drops were most nights chosen pre-clubbing delicacies. The air was rich with madness, so tightly compacted and forced into close proximity. A seething mass of chaos, breaking away from the crowded streets to file one-by-one into various very explicitly suggestive clubs.  
He readied his lipstick, extending the glossy, rich tip to its peak, and gently spread it over his lips. Such precision was only born of years of practice, reaching the very edge of his plush kisser, then smushing them together and releasing with a wet, shiny pop.   
He was, undoubtedly, gorgeous. 

  
Angel always knew how to dress up for a night, even if it was already 2am. What is a little debauchery before the sky brightens, anyway? The line, much unlike Angels dating habits, moved agonizingly slowly. Step after painful, oh so painful step. At least he had a chance to properly admire just how good he looked; fuchsia gaze drifting over all his curves. Sure, he was technically wearing a corset so garishly spread for his trademark blazer, showing off just how plush his tits were, but then... well, he was hardly the most exposed demon here. There were some who didn't even wear clothes, or pants for that matter. One of the larger, more monstrous demons caught him staring at his package, and threw the stripey whore a wink. Angel responded in turn with a wide, sharp grin. 

  
A few of the demons ahead of him were let through, and eager to waive the fee, our penniless porn-star slid up right behind them, only to be stopped by the bouncer. The very large, many-eyed bouncer. Shit; there was no sneaking passed him.  
"Hey, fat-head. What do ya think yer doin'? Ya gonna leave me out in the cold without my pals?"   
The scaley bouncer turned to eye off the unconcerned patrons who were already making their way to the bar inside. They most certainly had not forgotten their friend - as if Angel was anyone's 'friend'. "It's 50 bucks entry. No cuts."  
Angel let out a loud groan. "Aww come on. I'm not trying to start some rhubarb here, babe. I just wanna get my fix. Have a good time, y'know what I mean?" He shot the beastly fellow a set of finger guns - all four, in fact. The brute was not impressed and crossed his arms with a huff.  
"It's 50 bucks entry. No cuts."  
"Augh! Look, look; I ain't got the lettuce-"  
Angel was immediately thrown out of the line, smashing into the trash cans as he was chucked aside like yesterday's news. "Hey!" He shouted, immediately drawing one of his many, many tommy-guns upon this brawny challenger. Where did he even get them from? "You wanna go, huh?" The bouncer's set of very large, very intense eyes loomed over Angel, pinning him down amidst the garbage with their sheer presence.   
"I uhh... I guess not?" All that bravado quickly slunk away, and soon enough Angel was left alone in a particularly foul-smelling pile of defeat. He pulled himself up, and gave a tentative sniff of his clothes. Eugh. Disoriented and generally bummed out, towards the alley he did stumble, fiddling through his bag for some perfume which he applied again and again. He positively reeked of fake cherry. 

  
"Still gettin' tossed in with the trash, huh?" Came a familiar, raspy voice from amidst the gloom. Within the dark of the grimy side-street a cigarette was drawn upon, casting a warm glow across numerous red eyes squinting up at the taller spider.   
"Arackniss. Doll, babe! How ya been?" Angel opened his arms wide to greet his brother, who in turn didn't make the slightest indication he was going to pull free of the dark and embrace his kin. As the porn-star crept closer, more and more of his older brother came into focus amidst the umbra. He was still so very short; the runt of the pack, honestly. But that didn't stop him from dressing up like fake royalty. All satin black and shimmering yellow. A poisonous spider nobody should touch, especially not Angel. He had learned that the hard way more than once.   
"You dun'no how to quit, do ya? Still bein'... all o'this, eh? How long ya been down here? Fifty? Score dozen?" The shorter man took another long drag on his smoke, flooding the dark with more shifting shadows.   
"Aww come on, 'Racky. I'm not that old. I-I think." Nerves drew a peal of timid chuckling out of Angel as he tried for some semblance of levity.  
His dark counterpart didn't laugh. Arackniss wasn't known for his sense of humour. He crept from his spot, slowly circling Angel. Like the white spider was prey, which honestly fit perfectly with how he was feeling. He was an animal caught in that sticky, vile web. Left to squirm beneath those sharp fangs, those prickly fingers, that piercing stare. Was it weird he was... a little turned on?   
"Ye're right, fuh once. Ye're not old. But ye're dumb as bricks. Ya don't learn nuthin'. And ya bust our balls, y'know that? 'Course ya don't. It's all about Angel, ain't it? At least in your pretty little head." 

  
Angel couldn't let that one slide, and it went right to the aforementioned locale. "So you still think I'm pretty?"  
"DON'T!" Arackniss spat, glowing pink poison dribbling from his lips, which he promptly whipped out a silken handkerchief to wipe away. He always had such a short temper. "Don't twist my words, Angel. Gahd; if Ma could see ya now... If Da saw ya he'd have yer hide stripped right off ya, and thrown to tha wolves. Y'know how much Valentino lords it over Da that yer 'is share-crop? Ye're a gahdamn embarassment is what ya are."  
Angel looked nervously behind him, making sure no hired goons had lined up to box Angel in. He was safe... or, at least as 'safe' as he could be around Arackniss. Who knew so much hate and rage could be bottled up into such a tiny little package?   
"But you're not goin' ta, are ya?" Angel was cautious with his words, knowing even the slightest misplaced syllable could earn him a roughing-up. Arackniss still didn't laugh.   
"No. I ain't. Call it... 'Fraternal love', if ya want. Or maybe I just feel bad for ya."   
"Aww... Arackniss.. you're such a softy." Angel leaned down to the felt spider's level, placing two arms over his shoulders. Sure, Arackniss was short, but there was such an air of power to him, as well as that unmistakable, desirable taint of forbidden lust. Those nights alone back in the 'States came to mind. The smell of blow dizzying Angel's once-living brain, the sound of a smooth jazz, the taste of scotch, and his brothers lips...   
"Ye're pushin' it, dick." The smaller spider slid his sultry sibling's arms off him, turning away towards the side-entrance to the club. 

  
Angel finally connected two and two together. "Oh you uh... you own this dive?" He asked nervously fiddling with his pink gloves. Arackniss just stared back at the trainwreck of a man, still holding the entrance door along with his mouth open. Cigarette burning to a stump dangling from his lips.   
"Can uhh... can I come in? It's cold out here."   
The club-owner let out a dispassionate grunt, and stepped aside with the door ajar for Angel. The coked-up cherry-bomb (certain cyclopses notwithstanding) let out a girly giggle, skipping in with a daring slap upon Arackniss taut rear, making sure to get a proper feel of his assets before quickly melting amidst the crowd lest he lose his opportunity to enter the swarming mass unbruised.   
What do you know? Arackniss' ass still was top-notch, even if he didn't show it off. Not that Angel should know.

  
But he did.


	14. S2C7: Sinful Siblings

Nobody expects to arrive in Hell. Not honestly, anyway. There's always that doubt - that faint, unshakable sensation that no; you were destined for Heaven all along. That despite all the people you ground under your boots, that you ripped off, screwed over, and otherwise fucked up, you were God's favourite little snowflake all along.   
This is known as delusion.

  
There is very little time between one's passing, and arriving in Hell. The dredges of the living world sink to the murky depths of time and space after they have been weighed, measured, and found wanting by the powers that be. The system is quick, efficient, and sudden. The sound of metal crashing into metal, windows shattering, the raw taste of blood, and then... Drowning. A drowning quite unlike any you have ever known. Your head bursts free of the thick, black tar. The air stinks of brimstone, and ash. The dark sludge stings your warped, ruined flesh. You scream through the foul muck with clogged lungs that have never been used before, crawling through the ichor of the river Styx upon weird, mangled limbs shaped by both your sins and fears in equal parts.   
Your body is an ill-shaped travesty. Lined in teeth, and eyes, and painful cysts. Reinforced with broken bones and calcified flesh. Anything that can move feels like it shouldn't. Each erroneous organ is unfit for whatever sick purpose it was jammed inside you for, and every limb is designed solely to bring you agony and suffering.  
Hell really was no picnic. Millions of these screaming sinners would pour through the overflowing gates of Hades, and while on a typical day the disdain comported royalty of this twisted torture-themed carnival would set the Hellhounds loose without a second's consideration (a safe bet to weed out the weak) to do so of late would be folly.   
The year is 1947, and many of the cursed arriving of late knew how to hold a gun. How to kill. How to obey.  
This, perhaps, was the silver lining that saved two misshapen siblings after a particularly nasty string of bad luck had led to their quite sudden, but ultimately inevitable demise. It had all been so instantaneous. One moment there was fear and fury, and then... their bodies twisting in the nightmarish sludge. Grasping for any footholds they might find, pressing eachother down under the surface amidst their panic just to steal a breath of air. The oldest of the pair did not help his younger brother. He should have, but he did not. He did not even consider for a moment to help that coked-up whore, even when he heard those desperate cries for help. Desperate, gargling, horrible cries for help.   
He was a hideous parody of what, if the older man had is way, would soon be forgotten. 

The dusty blinds split for several sharp, red eyes to glare out into the neon-red night. A bullet-riddled truck crept down the road with its mangy, bloodied passengers focusing their street-sweepers and chicago typewriters on any that happened to pass them by. While their tools of the trade could bear pretty names, the same could not be said for their bearers. Bruisers. Brutes. Belligerent bastards brandishing bitter intent for those that had wronged them. Blood had been spilled, and soon it would flow.   
Harsh white lines cut the cheap motel room into even portions as a searchlight drifted over the shuttered window, forcing Arackniss back amongst the filthy furnishings and into the dull glow of the black-and-white television screen.   
The fan turned slowly above, doing little to keep the air fresh within the messy motel room. The minibar was simultaneously understocked and overpriced. The phone had long since been disconnected. The itchy cots were cramped, and would likely look like a piece of modern art should a blacklight unfortunately drift over them. Truth be known their business involved enough blacklights already, or at least the scene of their crimes did after the fact. Back within the realm of the still-breathing, things were always an uphill battle for him. First and foremost was the business. It was all about the business.   
'His father's legacy', some would say. Everything he did was for the business. The family fortune was not going to build itself. He imagined that the afterlife would offer a reprieve.   
He was wrong.  
The small spider checked his revolver. He opened the cylinder, inspecting each bullet, before slapping it shut. He checked his pants, his blazer, his bow-tie. Dirtied from the flight, but not stained. The same could not be said for the... other party.   
A loud snort interrupted his thoughts - long, and with transparent purpose, before Angel pulled up from the spilled bag of Angel-dust with a clear, satisfied groan. Those mismatched eyes were glazed over, a dumb expression painted across his face despite the fact that he was missing a tooth and had covered the front of his dress in his own blood.   
"Must you?" Arackniss hissed, trying to keep his focus on well-deserved paranoia.   
Angel leaned back in for another ride, took more than his fair share of the street-grade blow, then coughed half of it back up. "Come off it, 'Racky. Ain't like I'm gonna drop dead from it. Geddit? 'Cos-"  
"Ya've already said that one." the older of the pair cut in, shooting the snow-huffing harlot a look that could cut glass. "That shit is messin' with ya 'ead. Ya don't think straight no more."   
"Please, babe." Angel leaned over the drug-laden table, making his unmistakable breasts all the more apparent, not paying heed to the blood-soaked pearls dangling from his neck. "Ain't nuthin' straight 'bout little old me. I mean, lighten' up! We're in Hell. Ya can't expect a gal not ta have fun."

  
His patience was being tested. Arackniss checked his gun again, only to be interrupted by the talkative floozy. "Besides, ya know fair'n square they screwed us over."  
"See, I know that's the dust talkin'."  
"T'Aint!" Angel shouted, slamming his ruined gloves down on the table and knocking off his nearly empty tommy-gun, sending the drum-magazine'd killing machine clattering across the filthy carpet despite the safety still being off. "You don't wanna see it, but they was rippin' Da off. They wanted to lowball us."  
Arackniss ground his sharp fangs together, flooding his mouth with the bitter, repugnant taste of his own venom. Every syllable he let free between those clenched teeth let pink, poisonous fumes drift out of his mouth. "It was a done deal, Angel. The price had been 'greed upon long prior. We had the smack. They had the bills. Ya' the one who decided to double the price. Or am I not drugged up enough to misremember it?"   
"Might do ya some good if ya were. Ya' such a straight edge." Angel started marking up another line, before his attention was snapped back up by his brother when the table was uprooted, sending all that precious snow up in a cloud of white. "Do ya 'ave any idea what 's like bein' tha only one not strung-up 'n dope in this business? Ya can't keep passin' the buck, Angel!"   
Without hesitation Angel immediately put up his hands, already pre-empting a mouthful of fist. "Alright, Alright! I'm sorry, jeez! No need to snap ya' cap."   
He watched ever so cautiously as the burning hot-rocket settled down, before trying to regain some of his ground.   
"But they did try ta-!" All it took was a single, solitary, raised finger and he shut his freckled gob right up. Arackniss' had every single eye locked on Angel. Each one wide open, staring down his younger brother. He was positively buzzing with pure, unadulterated rage.   
"Yer bad news printed last week, Angel." His voice was quiet, but dripping with hate. "Just Look'atcha!" He gestured at the dolled-up disgrace. There Angel was - wearing a bloodied, coke-dusted dress too short to hide his ass, wearing a set of mismatched heels and torn stockings that screamed for attention. His breasts rising and falling with every (assumedly last) breath he took. His make-up was smeared and running, and his lips were slick with his own blood.   
"Ya don't wear what we wear. 'Stead ya dress up like a fuckin' fruit, an' ya expect people ta take ya seriously? Yer a cock-suckin' fairy. A black mark on Da's good name. He don't need ya. Nobody does."   
That hit home. Angel looked down at himself, and for once didn't love what he saw. If only for the briefest moment, before that snide smile crept back over his face. 

"You do."   
Arackniss immediately whipped out his revolver, training the fully loaded tool right at Angel's pretty head. "Don't."   
"But'cha do."  
The hammer was pulled back, clicking into place. Angel bit his lower lip, cheeks bright as he slowly pulled out of the last still upright chair. He took his brother's trembling hands into his own, leaned down and opened his mouth. Hot, sticky spit drooled down from his soft lips, dripping from his chin as he swallowed the tip of the gun up. The white-spider kept his odd eyes locked on Arackniss' own as he expertly began to work the steel barrel like a cock. Drawing his mouth up, and down the primed firearm, before pulling away with a clearly enunciated 'pop', and keeping his bloodied kisser open to show off just how wet it was. "Ya gonna do it this time, slick?" He groaned, making sure to keep Arackniss fingers on the trigger. Threatening to jerk forward and seal his fate in one swift movement. Glossy, blood-tainted spider-spit trickled from his long, studded tongue, and fell between his tits. His heart was pounding, and every breath he took was tainted with a wicked shiver.  
"Come on, 'Racky." Angel teased, redirecting the gun down between them as he closed the gap. The whore made sure the gun was pressed right up against his throbbing cock, just as his tits squished against his brother's chest. He could feel the smaller spider's heart galloping like a terrified deer beneath his breast.   
"Ya not dumb. N'ya know how much I do this for ya, not them, right?" Arackniss went to open his mouth to say something, but the words were caught in his throat, and soon smothered as his own blood pressed in for a kiss. His brothers tongue was so... warm. So soft, and slimy, and the taste of blood only served to excite him more. He just couldn't resist.   
He gave in and pressed his own tongue against Angel's, letting his younger brother take the lead in this slimy, spit-oozing dance. The diminutive spider felt... so weird. His cheeks burned, and his thoughts span out of control, all logic and reason mixing into the room's humid atmosphere for a few sticky moments. He pulled free of Angel, though was unable to break away from those pink, rich eyes. Unable to close his mouth as their shared, glue-like saliva dangled between them, leaving a trail of sin from Angel's tits to Arackniss' tight suit. Hearts pounding in synchronization, fingers trembling, all the while the gun was still held up against Angel's dribbling, twitching cock. He needed this. They both did.  
Without warning, Arackniss thrust his taller brother away from him, bile building up in the back of his throat. He stumbled away, desperate to be free, yet too disoriented to escape the room. The dark-fuzzed demon fell down upon the floor and clawed himself upright into a seated position separate from his sinful sibling. 

  
"Come on, 'Racky. Don't leave me hangin'." Angel pleaded, stumbling back from their sloppy kiss and sliding down the wall opposite his brother.  
"That didn't 'appen." the venomous gunman spat, desperate to remove the taste of his brother. He examined his gun once more. Opened the cylinder. Counted it. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Six rounds.   
Angel wasn't about to go down without putting up a fight. He didn't know when to quit and spread his legs for the little black spider. Making sure to show off his evident arousal, not to mention where his fingers pressed into with a wicked moan. Hot juices trickled onto the floor, demanding Arackniss' love. "Please... 'Racky, please. Please. I need this."  
The cylinder was snapped back into place, and Angel stopped dead in his tracks. The look on Arackniss face was one he had only ever seen once. It was one he could never forget. 

  
"That. Never. Happened." Arackniss hissed.


	15. S2C8: Eager Eightfold Endeavours of the Ever-so Exciting Variety, En lieu of E-Rated Events

  
The cloudy, bloodstained afternoon sky spun above him in a sickening waltz, his own lanky legs desperately trying to match their tempo as he staggered out of the door, splattering blood on the freshly rain-soaked pavement. Angel found the chain-link fence rising up to meet his empty grip. A foul taste had set itself in his mouth - bitter and familiar - as he steadied himself and timidly felt up his bleeding lip. Following the red trail left by this disoriented, bruised stumble, came his brother from beyond the speakeasy's less-used exit (could such a concept apply to a place like Hell, given liquor would never see the slightest thing resembling moderation, let alone prohibition?).   
Methodical as ever, the short, yet surely sinister spider rolled up his silk sleeves and inspected his bloodied knuckles for any scrapes. Angel's jaw hurt something fierce, and even though his vision was dizzy he still managed to speak (albeit with a clear slur). 

  
"So this is all my fault now, huh? Fuck you." He spat up a glob of red, swaying upon unstable legs made all the more unsafe by the addition of stiletto-heels.   
"Ya lied to Da. Don't lie to Da." Arackniss voice was cold, cool, and precise. He cut right to the point and made no effort to sugarcoat it. Angel didn't deserve sweet things in his eyes.  
"Aw come on! It was a white lie! They-they started it. They shot us first!"   
The shorter arachnid retorted with an undercut, forcing the wind out of Angel before the messy, white harlot fell to his knees, gagging for air. "Can ya even 'ear ya'self? Lookin' like ya fruity in the head too. Bonafide fairy-boinkin' finocchio."  
Angel's mismatched, burning gaze latched onto his brother's own stare, who met his brother dead on. He wasn't a coward who hid behind pimps and drugs. Angel, however, found it difficult to maintain the look for long. Those odd-shaped eyes were always so rich, and intense. They made him weak at the knees - take that as you will.   
"Yer the one always... hngh..." Angel wheezed, crawling onto his hands and knees like an animal before he was able to pull himself up. Or, as high as he dared with Arackniss' short temper being so closely tied to his short stature.   
"Yer always tellin' me to be more mature. 'Be a better son' 'n all that, right? Well look at me; I'm tryin'! Can't you just fuckin' love me? I wanted to impress ya both-!"  
"Ya wanted a bigger cut so ya could pay off that shady Valentine-whatever." He cracked his knuckles - slowly, decidedly, causing the taller of the two to wince with every pop.   
"N-no! I didn't! I just wanted some appreciation or... somethin'! Anythin'! Yer not perfect. I know yer not perfect!" The older of the pair tightened his eyes on Angel. The family shame was pushing his luck, especially when he began to chuckle to himself in spite of his obvious predicament. Arackniss didn't like that. "Shaddup."  
"How many girls was it? We both know it weren't just those two hookers in Puerto Rico." 

  
"I said shaddup."

  
Angel didn't know when to stop. "How many did I help ya bury?"  
The smaller man drew his gun and jammed it right against Angel's skull. The whore knew to stop now and could feel a cold sweat beading on his brow. Those eyes. Those were the last set of eyes he wanted looking down on him with another gun to his head. He was shivering, breath haggard. Terrified. Too terrified to slide a witty remark out, much less say anything.  
Arackniss swore something foul, and threw the gun over the fence, which promptly dented someone's shiny new Studebaker with a loud thunk. "Get the fuck out 'a here, you doped-up pansy, 'fore I do somethin' Ma wouldn't like."   
While the threat of immediate death was removed, Angel was all too aware of what being cut off from the family meant. "Ya can't just leave me out in the cold!" He whined, shivering as a wayward afternoon breeze chilled him to his core. "Ya know ya can't. Ya want me to turn tricks just for bread?"   
"It wouldn't be the first time. Look at yaself for once, not the fuckin' gravel! Ya go 'round dressed up like a bitch, ya get down on all fours for them picture cameras, and ya throw yer lot in with men what don't got two silver bucks in their 'eads and a Johnny thicker than ya arm." Arackniss pulled his fist up, ready to hit Angel again but stayed himself when his pathetic brother pulled his arms before his face with tears in his eyes. He opted for another vicious, slur-filled tongue-lashing instead. "Yer a fuckin' faggot. A doll-boy suckin' guys off for what? A few seconds'a fame? Ya pimp's love? Da doesn't need ta see that filth. Molly neither, an' she's dumb enough ta look up to ya sorry arse."  
Angel looked down at the ground. He was quiet for once, nervously knocking his knees together. A car drove by on the rugged road beyond the alley, casting the sounds of Hell-appropriate jazz. The sounds of distant gunshots and shrieks was just ambient noise by now. The sky rumbled again, urging Angel along. Unfortunately, the whore didn't know how to turn it off.  
"She's not the only one..." Angel whispered, nervously looking at his brother who raised a brow at him. He shouldn't have expected a rational answer from his brother who took pride in taking everything out of context. This was more his fault than Angel's. "What?"

  
"Well she ain't! You know it, an' I know it. You keep stealin' glances, and don't think I ain't noticin', or ain't flattered. If Molly's watchin' this fine package work it then she's got good tastes too, and who can blame the sweet thing? I bet ya thinkin' bout my ass right now, huh? Go on; admit it. Just say ya want me to sit on yer face, an' we can say this whole scuffle never happened."  
Arackniss could feel the bile building up in his throat again. Bitter, peak, absolute revulsion. Despite how bloodied and disarrayed dear Angel was, he still managed to show off his figure with a flick of his wrist, a roll of his hips, and far too little skirt to go around. What wasn't dirtied from their latest criminal escapade was either stained with rich red or shouldn't be so visible in public even if they were in Hell.  
"Maybe it runs in the vine, eh? Pops ain't got some, but you... babe..." Angel drew his hands in an over-the-top hourglass motion, much to the disgust of his kin. It was an inaccurate (but not undeserved) claim. His brother certainly lacked the trained, 'skilled' physique the up-and-coming porn-star so proudly flaunted, but that wasn't to say he was too far off. Slim, and sleek, and smooth. Were he to straighten his posture, and throw out that suit for something more... mhm... 'Angel appropriate' our darling fluffed-up floozy might have some competition.  
"Valentino'd pay more than the Piper to get that tight little thing spread. Ya know if I weren't just boots I'd rub a few bucks together too." He bit his lower lips, savouring that unmistakable taste of blood as he looked his assaulter up and down. "I'll certainly be rubbin' somethin' out for it later anyway."

  
The sky above growled, threatening to soak the two in another of Hell's hateful showers. Arackniss balled his fists up, then released them. If he started hitting again, he wouldn't stop. If he started hitting again, he'd make sure Angel didn't get up afterwards. "Don't make me knock yer other eye out too. Ya see that sign?" He cast one of his many arms up at the flittering blue neon-light. 'The Spider's Web'. "This's Da's turf. We're all mice, an' he's the fattest cat 'round. But if ya keep this shit up I will climb over that God-damn fence and put all six rounds in yer lap. Yer disgustin'. Yer a damn' plague."   
Angel was feeling a lot more confident in himself now. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe he just really, really liked this. He needed this more than anything right now.   
"So?" He teased, his lips peeling into a bloody grin so wide it reached his freckles. "We both know ya like this. Ya've always liked hittin'. It just so happens yer too much of a pussy to admit it. Why ya blushin'? We both know ya've sucked me off before too. Yer a bigger slut than me, but now ya can't pray it all away no more. It don't work like that down here."  
Arackniss' counter was succinct and simple; he grabbed Angel by the hair and threw him to the ground in one swift motion, soaking the poor whore's blazer in filthy drain-water. The shorter spider wasted no time and was on his brother at once with his hands in his hair, forcing the lanky loser down under the puddle's surface. A mad rush of panic, water splashing as the drug-addict fought back at the muddy puddle desperate to swallow his life up in its cold embrace. When opportunity presented itself to him he took it and thrust his shoulder into his brother's face. The smaller man stumbled back, clutching his bloodied nose, but it wasn't long until the heavenly harlot was upon him.   
Sharp, vicious claws dug into Arackniss' throat, cutting off oxygen with hateful intent. "Why does he like ya more than me?! I'm better! I-I could be so much better but ya don't give me the fuckin' chance!" Angel shrieked, tears flooding his eyes even before Arackniss found his neck. 

  
The two fell upon the poster-clad wall, digging their thumbs into the other's tender flesh. Fiery loathing burning beneath misty eyes, bodies shaking as they willed the other to somewhere other than Hell. Somewhere other than one another's glossy, hate-filled stare. Somewhere other than their desperate grips, the squirming of their bodies pressed against one another. Their temples pounded, heads throbbing, hearts beat vibrantly. Arackniss had his brother in his sharp grip, his torso pressed against Angel's own. Chest to chest with those soft, pressed-up tits. Firm stomachs grinding on equally taut flesh. Fire and hatred. Raw, desperate, primal fury that willed their grips to shake and quiver with equal parts savage delight and bastardly sinful, building satisfaction. Quivering as the world melted away until only they remained. Two spiders bound in shared loathing of untamed ferocity. Legs writhing, weakly bucking forward, minds and bodies in disarray before the hate gave way to the key force beneath it all.   
The two brothers fell upon eachother, lips meeting lips, not daring to hide how much they needed this. The familiar taste of cigarette smoke and gore dancing across their tongues, of which took free reign of the other's mouth. Spider-silk-like spit bubbling between their lips and what few heated breaths they permitted themselves. Angel quickly stole his older brothers hands into his own, directing them to his bust. He didn't stifle the moan that escaped him when his brother dug his claws into his sensitive rack, nor the whimper as he felt the other's fingers grope and squeeze his ass. "Ngh... Ah... C-careful with the goods..." Angel whined, but the blush burning on his freckled cheeks told another tale.   
Arackniss let go of the coked-up whore, but didn't abandon all touch for long. He took a firm grip of Angel's hair and dragged the moaning masochist further down the grimy alley lest the more discerning of their father's henchmen wonder what ever became of the pair. 

  
Once again Angel stumbled forwards, but despite the fact that he was still bleeding this darling devil-in-heels had the dumbest grin on his face. He knew that gaze Arackniss' kept to so few, and he had always needed it upon him; a look of desire. The desire to possess, to take, to control. The smaller spider thrust Angel against the wall face first, then pulled him back when he spotted a better place to rail him into. The whore felt his heart skip a beat when he saw it; A trash-chute. A tight, grimy, cramped slot for garbage and refuse to be chucked down. A layer of muck and oil had stained the bricks beneath it, and the smell was absolutely vile.   
"Oh fuck yes." He groaned, nearly tripping over himself as his lanky figure was haphazardly smushed against the wall. He hastily managed to free his bouncing puppies before Arackniss took hold of Angel's hair once more, making sure to pull on that white fur with extra cruel intent just to look down on Angel. Who of course was absolutely lust-struck, mouth open, lips quivering and freckled cheeks blushing bright and eager. "I love you~" The dizzy whore managed, before his brother spat on his face like the garbage he was, and forced him down into the tight, cramped, vile metal tube.   
It was dark in there, though a few strands of light crept across the unclean, oily walls of his sinful little chamber. His tits were forced into the grime, and no doubt what of his blazer was still unstained would be left black and coated in muck. Arackniss fiddled with his belt, desperate to free his length from its bindings. Angel had managed to snake one of his arms back, and it was just long enough to reach his panties which he quite literally tore off and left the tattered fabric to dangle from about his thighs. His brother licked his drool-soaked lips, unable to stop the trickle of neon pink arachnid venom from escaping. Damn, Angel's arse had only got better in Hell.   
Firm, but round enough to jiggle properly. A defined, perky, squeezable ass. He spread his brother, admiring just how nice Angel's more used locale could be. His brother's faintly darkened hole winked at him, desperate for attention, while his cock and balls dangling bellow received not even the faintest glance. It's not gay if it's with your own brother.... right?  
The smaller spider gave it a hard slap, causing it to bruise almost instantly before he pulled himself into Angel with a wicked groan from both of them.   
That tight, firm grip of the whore's hole was incredible, followed perfectly by those soft, smooth insides. He just about came right then and there and had to slow himself right down for a few moments. Getting into Angel wasn't easy for Arackniss either; he had to stand on his tippy-toes just to reach Angel's rear, and that's with the whore so low to the ground. And of course, his length wasn't the most impressive thing in Hell. He was still rather short. But what he lacked in size he made up for in raw, hateful enthusiasm. And then some.  
His sharp fingers dug into Angel's hips for support, drawing blood within seconds as he pressed in deep as he could, pulling back only to slam right back in with a yelp from Angel. "H-hey!" Angel cried out, his voice echoing down into the dark bin. "I said watch it, asshole!" 

  
Arackniss proceeded to pound back into his brother with added force, making sure to earn another whimpering yelp from the masochist. Like Hell he cared about Angel's pleasure. He needed this for his sake, not that troublemaking tart's.   
The sound of perky ass hitting crotch echoed down the sidestreet, accompanied with barely contained groans. Arackniss was getting faster and more vicious with every hump. He could barely reach the hole, but he was sure to press it in as deep as he could. After a bit he even dared to hook his thumb into his brother (who of course cried out in pain, then raw pleasure), tugging on Angel's sensitive pucker. His brother squirted on his dick - clear juices soaking his cock as he picked up the speed. Angel had 'shared a bed' with more than a few smaller guys, and he knew how to make it work. His pulsing, tight rim held tightly onto Arackniss length, stretching down as he pulled back then spluttering like a cheap whore's ass when it slammed back into him. Already the inside of Angel's legs were soaked in clear, sticky juices, made only worse as he ground his thighs together.   
"Stop fuckin' cumming you bitch!" Arackniss shouted, relocating his claws to Angel's cheeks and digging in when Angel came again. He wanted the slut to suffer, and launched another bruising slap to those white buns. Poor Angel, on the other hand, could not help but get off more and more on all of this. His tongue had fallen out of his fanged mouth, lapping at the disgusting black slime as his heavy breasts were dragged up and down the muck like a mop. Mascara running tears had stained his cheeks, and all he could taste was bitter and revolting. He loved it. He couldn't hold it back in anymore and began weakly bucking his hips forward as he came. Hot cum spurted uselessly on the wall, his cock twitching and dribbling as it swayed with each of his brothers thrusts. "Yer disgusting!" Angel nearly came as those foul words were spewed back up at him. "Yer a fuckin' embarrassment! Say it!"  
"I'm in embarrassment! I'm a bitch! A filthy bitch, oh God; do it! Cum inside me! I need it! Please, please! Please! I'm going to come again!" Angel felt his whole body lurch deeper into the bin as his brother came. Arackniss was bent of Angel, groaning as he began releasing a heavy load deep into Angel. It felt like his whole body had turned into a white, boiling mess of satisfaction before he finally came down from the high. He slumped back, pulling free of Angel's hole which bubbled cum as it desperately tried to tighten down on a cock that wasn't there.   
"F-fuck..." The shorter man groaned, reality hitting him a little too hard. He quickly pulled his slacks back up, retightening his belt all the while being greeted with his brother's ass, which gently swayed side to side in a feeble attempt for more. "Ya make me sick." Arackniss cursed, turning away to light another cigarette. He could stop at any time - the tobacco, and Angel. He let out a satiated puff of smoke, before turning away and slowly walking away from his stuck brother. A few wayward spits of rain began to fall from the sky, exciting the puddles. "After this, we're done. Don't come back here no more, or I'll have ya shot on sight." The black spider called back, and within moments he had gone, leaving Angel all alone, still squirming with desperation as he quietly sobbed into the muck of his own sin. 

  
Angel slid down the wall, soaked in muck and water. The sky was darker now, and the rain was heavy. He pulled his legs apart to inspect the damage. His panties were ruined, and his stockings were torn to all hell. Even his blazer was a mess, and his skirt? Stained with his own cum. Even though he was right in the middle of the icy, cruel downpour he didn't feel it. The neon blue sign cast a dull glow over his shaking body, over his face as he dug his fangs into his still bleeding, freshly bitten lips again. His cock was still hard, and his asshole wouldn't stop twitching as his brothers cum leaked out of him, and mixed with the rain. His breathing hadn't slowed down yet, and he moaned into the rain.   
"P-please... not again... I-I can't...I!" Angel cried out as he came again, hot cum purging from his hole in a sinful, awful manner when he squirted. Writhing in place, kicking up despite his ass being situated on wet pavement. He was... rotten. Ruined. Why was he like this? What did he do to deserve being like this?  
He went to wipe away his tears, but realised he had stopped crying long ago.   
Now it was just the rain, and an arousal that wouldn't subside no matter how much he came. He'd have to get out of dodge soon, otherwise his brother might come back and finish him off. Take that as you will.


	16. S2C9: Stuffy Seatings chosen for IMProper Purposes

  
"Hell yeah." Angel felt the raw heat of the club wash over him, neon pink lasers drifting over a seething mass of monstrous appendages, and many teethed smiles. The air stank of sweat, and cheap deodorant, and blood. Always blood. He slid off his blazer, leaving it to dangle upon a rather unimpressed deer-demon who, unfortunately, already had several coats hanging from his horns. Bearing nothing but a corset, and illegally long boots that rode all the way up to squeeze tightly about his thighs, Angel became amidst the sinners and sinful alike. Synthetic music pounding in his ears, pressing up against all manner of Hell-beings and cursed souls, grinding onto firm flesh and slick fur to the beat of the teeth-rattling'ly loud music as he lost his mind in the crowd. A few curious claws found themselves on his exposed arse, eliciting a delighted shriek from the harlot. For just a moment the whole scene devoured Angel within open, slimy maw, and he was but a spectre drifting through the mess of bodies and limbs.  
What burst free of the dancing mass on its far side was a very sweaty, panting spider who had appropriately reappropriated someone's pink feather boa, which he promptly rubbed his cheeks into. Soft as heck. The bar was his goal, primarily the barkeep of said bar who was barbarously bearing a barbers worst nightmare atop his bare, balding brow. He seemed to recognise the floozy. A not entirely uncommon occurrence for the porn-star.   
A few demons had found themselves at the edge of the many bottles and glasses, shouting orders and being handed all manner of alcoholic concoctions in turn. Angel would have taken literally anything if it was free, but this wasn't that sort of club; his brother didn't do 'free'. "Hey!" Angel shouted over the bass of the music, trying for the mixologist's attention. The man's horrendously hairy head turned several degrees too far to look at Angel without turning his torso in any way. "Hey uh, there a snakey lookin' fellar around here?" The barkeep squinted at the spider demon, causing him to re-evaluate such a question. Of course there were snake-demons aplenty in Hell. Very few people hated things like kittens, or swans. Though they did exist, the sick bastards.   
"He's about yay tall, looks all dated an' wears a top-hat. Talks like a top, slithers like a bottom. Y'seen him?" The tender shrugged, and returned to a patron who actually had money. Angel cussed beneath his breath, and began to take in the club for any sign of his quarry-I mean 'date'. There were a few booths with all manner of demons along the edge of the dance-floor - both conscious and not - surrounded by liquor and hard drugs. A goat, some gargoyle-looking thing, a very fiery orb with eyes, and... His heart sank when he saw him. Oh. _Oh no._

  
If he ran he'd have to go out the front, and the bouncer would leave quite the welt on Angel for sneaking in (a falsehood that his brother would not clear up even on a good day). He groaned aloud, and began the tormentous traipse to the busy booth belonging to a certain charming cobra.   
"It wassss then I sssshot my firsst rhino. It wasss an albino, can you believe it? A rare sssspeccimen that I kept hung upon my wallssss, next to the varioussss elephantsss, tigerssss, and workerssss that dared hisssss the word 'union'." Sir Pentious was surprisingly holding his own at socialising with a number of rich-looking studs who had undoubtedly spent their entire lives (and after-lives) in the good grace of their wealthy fathers given the many golden rings they wore, and shiny leggings. Too high grade for Angel to afford, anyway. The snake was also, unfortunately, dressed up for the occasion.   
Where once there had been a beautiful, eye-bearing exposed chest that demanded Angel's greedy mitts reach beneath the fabric, he now bore a 'Music Band' shirt (was that a reference? Angel certainly didn't get it), with a scarf. And a snap-back. God above no. The first thing Angel did when he leaned over the booth seating with a sultry 'Heeeeyyyy' was pick up the hat, despite it staring him down as he did so, and threw it sailing into the crowd. Absolutely none of that.   
"Ah!" The snake's many eyes lit up in excitement, eagerly gesturing to the welcome tramp. In that black-leather corset. Pentious did his best to avoid looking at that unmistakable bulge of manhood so obviously present in the one-piece. "My good fellowssss, might I introduccce the lovely Angel Dusssst. He isss quite the sssscamp, er, Angel; thissss isss SSspine, Mikael-"   
"It's Micky."  
"Yesss, uh and thisss isss Ssssoulsssain. Am I pronouncccing that correctly? 'Ssssoulssain'?"   
The glittery woman smiled politely, and Angel immediately picked up on what was going on here. Three very attractive, well-dressed club-goers around a very out-of-place snake who still thought thin-striped suits were in?   
The smiling whore practically slid over the railing and onto the surprised cobra's lap. "If ya lookin' for a mark he's already mine." He threw the trio a black wink, earning a groan of disappointment from 'Soulsain', who promptly abandoned the failed potential escortee with her friends, much to the confusion of Sir Pentious.  
Before the snake could inquire as to what exactly had just transpired before his very (many) eyes, the warm embrace of glossy lipstick clad lips was pressed into his own. Soft enough to silence his questions, and permit Angel a chance to speak after pulling away lest the scaled Sir broke into more hiss filled monologues. 

  
"Yer lookin' good, Penty. Lovin' the new get-up." _He certainly wasn't._ "Spot a doll a drink, would'ya?" One of the more disgruntled, impish staff members had tried to sneak passed the pair to no avail, hurrying by with what looked to be several demon's worth of empty bottles on her serving tray before being stopped by Sir Pentious. Or, perhaps it was the fact that he was holding a rather excessive stack of bills out before the imp that had halted her movement? Angel licked his lips as he eyed down the cash. He could buy a weeks worth of blow with that, and have some to spare for a whole set of glittery eye-shadow. In terms of prospective sugar daddies, Pentious was quickly rising to the top. The slim snake was foolish enough not to be running a tab on Angel.  
"I believe thissss ssshould ssufficcce for sssseveral drinksss. I will have sssomething.... hm.. what'sss new and cool thessse daysss?"  
The greedy imp reached for the notes instinctively, then stayed their hand. There were too many eyes locked on them to grab the cash and bolt. "Beer is pretty-"  
Pentious let out a wild cackle, his plume rising up to reveal the eye-patterns on the inside of those beautiful, silky black locks. "Do not sssell me a dog, good sssir!"  
The imp growled, flicking the patron the bird instead. "Do I look like a dude to you, old man?"   
"Oh. Well, I sssseee that now. And what a lovely... ah-hem. I will take a sssserving of sssherry, two partsss liquor, one part ssssnake oil. In a cryssstal glasssss, of courssse." He chuckled to himself, but neither Angel nor the imp got it. They looked at each other for a confused moment.   
"And for Angel...." He looked down at the fuzzy white spider, who batted his mascara-bearing lashes up at the snake. "I want somethin' fizzy, an' sweet, an' strong. I can have that, right Daddy?" Pentious' eyes went wide, his heart skipping a beat. This was not something his Victorian smutty literature had prepared him for. In fact, he was far more experienced with the notion of dueling for a maidens love, or high-class jeering in the ways of the more sinful, and rather titillating novels he had purchased whilst alive. Or, at least, had his servants purchase for him, before having them flogged for bringing such vile filth onto the premises which he would despose of at a later date.  
In short; he wasn't ready for anything Angel had to offer, but he was about to get everything.   
"Y-yesss... that... th-that will be all. Go. Now. Pleasssse." He hissed, not even flinching when the small demon yanked the bills from his claws and scampered off (hopefully) to the bar.   
"So...." Angel began, rubbing his perky butt down into the now thoroughly shaken snake's lap. "Y'still wearin' that plug, huh? I can feel it, y'know. That's pretty kinky, don't'cha think? Of course, I'm tempted to take that up as a challenge. You should know the only thing I'd want in yer is me, but only if ya use a firm voice when telling me to." Poor Pentious shivered with delight, trying desperately not to squirm up against the hussy's huggable rump.   
"I'm just joshin' ya babe. Y'should see that look on ya face, hah! Priceless." Angel slid off Pentious lap and onto the unattended booth-seating beside the prim and proper pedant, though he left his long, leather-clad legs over the snake's serpentine lap. It was probably for the best, given the faint trickle of juices escaping around one lonely, familiar eye in the centre of Pentious' lap.   
  
The fluffy spider pulled out his packet of cigarettes from between his tits, and took the very last one in between his teeth before chucking the box behind him. "Got any hot goss?" He mumbled through the fag, stealing a packet of matches from the booth.  
"Gosssssss?" The word was still foreign to Sir Pentious, despite his desperate attempts to learn the tongue of the hip and young. "The... gossssip? Well, I will have you know jusssst yesssterday'sss eve the lasssst of the Sssssouth-easssst Dockssss wasss fully procured by yourssss truly. It wasss a-"  
"Uggghhh!" Angel groaned, letting his cigarette smoke billow out of his mouth as he did so. "I said 'gossip', not 'bore me to death'. At least tell me ya whacked a few birds."  
Pentious was very much out of his depth, but he did his best. "W-well yessss but-"  
That got the whore's attention, who positively buzzed with excitement. "Oh yeah? How'd ya do it? Strangled 'em? Stabbed 'em? Gave them a pair'a concrete loafers and sent them on an aquatic maiden voyage of Hell's ocean?"   
"I had them tied to the train trackssss, asss a matter of fact." The snake held his chin up high, quite proud of himself. Angel, however, was far less impressed. "Really?"   
"I do not believe I am following you, Misssster Dussst."  
The waitress returned with the pairs drinks in hand, of which Angel was all too happy to take up the free liquor in one of his spare arms. He had quite the reach. "It's just so... so Saturday morning villain, don'tcha think? Next, you'll be telling me you like dynamite time-bombs, and those uhh... what's'ey'calleds? With the lasers, and the hero tied up on a slab in all those spy films."  
"L-lasersss are cool! They are very cool..." Pentious sulked, looking down into his sherry. The fumes rising off the liquor were strong - far stronger than his backbone, it seemed.   
Angel's drink was exactly as he'd asked - sweet, strong, and fizzy. The downside was it had a lemon slice stuck on the rim. What was he meant to do? Drink around the damn thing? They could have at least given him a straw.  
"Babe," He began after deciding to tear off the lemon with his fangs, chewing both the rind and seeds as he did so. "It's so cliche. Lissen; yer a clever cat. You like class, right? All that... crystal chandeliers and silk linen stuff, right? What ya should be doin' is poisonin' them. Ya dig your teeth into their necks, flood their system with hot toxin, make them dizzy and drunk... ngh... " The cobra shot his counterpart a look of wide-eyed confusion, quite unable to believe what he was hearing. "I-I beg your pardon?"  
Angel took a long, drawn-out sip of his painfully sweet drink before replacing the glass with his cigarette. "Come on, it'd be real hot. I'd volunteer for the human trials. Demon. Whatever Ya could press me down, flood my mouth with all that sticky glowin' fun. I wouldn't complain. Don'tcha want ta see yer pretty little boy stumblin' 'round, dribblin' your poison all over his tits? Everyone'd know who I belong ta. Who's my favourite Daddy." The waiter returned at the most inopportune time to bring the pair another round of drinks, regardless of the fact Pentious hadn't even touched his yet. Angel smiled sweetly at the woman, courteous whilst the poor snake was visibly shaken. And very, very hard. Angel squirmed in place, grinding his plush thighs down on those two barely concealed cocks. 

  
"Are you gettin' off on this?" Angel jeered as soon as the woman was almost out of earshot, earning a pathetic whimper from the 'well-dressed' territorial snake, who promptly downed the entire contents of his glass in some desperate attempt not to come off as an absolute prude.  
"Fuck; ya totally are! You're a kinky bitch, y'know that? I love that in a man. Ngh. I can feel 'em twitchin' too. Yer gettin' my thighs wet."  
Pentious gagged as he downed the second drink, then let out an animalistic hiss in revulsion of the liquor. The snake oil was not a good idea. "I r-require a pillow." he tried in some vain bid to dissuade what them both of what they so desperately wanted to do in this booth. The dust-inclined spider laughed so hard that he almost choked on the last few embers of his cigarette, washing down his cackling with the newer, (so far) undrunk pink cocktail.   
"The fuck for? Pffft. If ya lookin' to sit on somethin' then that's what my face is for. Ya think I'd let these tongue piercin's go ta waste?" He stuck out his long, smooth tongue to show off the glinting spider-bite studs along his slimy appendage, as well as just how wet his mouth was. What a slimy slut.   
"Now, on the other hand; if it's those fat snake dicks ya needin' ta hide... ah, who am I kiddin'?" He shrugged before putting the butt of his cigarette out on his tongue (much to the delighted horror of our sweet striped snake). "I can feel those monsters pressin' up on my thighs. Ahn..." The star seducer reached between his legs, gently pressing a finger into his slick, twitching rim. The benefits of wearing fetish gear in public included, but were not limited to, 'ease of access'.  
"Can ya believe I'm already soaked just thinkin' bout it? I'd pay ya just for a chance on them right now. Matter of fact is I ain't had somethin' that big in me for..." _At most three days._ "...Forever! F-fuck mngh... but we gotta be civil, right? Yer all about that nonsense, so let's be proper. Refined." He snorted as he broke into another bitchy cackle, then slid over onto Pentious lap to straddle him. If someone dared to look at the pair they would immediately spot the two thick, weighty snake cocks pressed against Angel's ass. They were pretty hard to miss - especially since they were dribbling neon lubricant, and had a set of large, pink glowing eyes down the centre too.   
"I won't make a sound if you don't, kay babe?" Angel planted a glossy kiss on the starstruck snake's cheek, before sliding down that sleek, scaled body. 

  
"Wh-what? Wait, what are you- n-n-oh God!" Pentious barely covered his moans, watching intently as Angel slinked down beneath the table with the sort of trained expertise one only acquires through practical theory. The ground was sticky, and faintly damp, but that didn't worry Angel in the least.   
Pentious bit into his knuckle, desperately squirming with addled delight as his cocks were taken into such soft, gentle hands and coated in black, staining kisses. The aching desire was positively unbearable, and relief only came as Angel opened his mouth and swallowed the first one with a cheeky little moan. He pushed up and down along the tip, leaving glossy spit along the ridged cocks and earning another of the cobra's whining mewls.  
Those lips were so soft, so trained, gently sucking on the hefty rod as it pressed deeper and deeper with every thrust of his fluffy head. Angel cast a wink up at Pentious, pulling off with a sigh of depraved delight, then began on the second, yet untouched cock. He didn't leave the first one alone either; he had more than enough hands to keep jerking it as he bobbed his open mouth along the jaw-straining, thick dick. At one point he pressed in a little too far, gagging and spluttering spit on his cobra collaborator's crotch in a less-than-glamourous fashion, but he didn't let that dissuade him.   
It was clear his prey was nervous, and kept looking at the crowd lest anyone catch them. The sound of the club was heavy, and drowned out his groans as he sunk further into Angel's mouth. Nervous, sure. _But unmistakably into it._ The fluffed up floozy knew it was his time to shine. He pulled off the cocks, letting a frothy dribble of spit fall down between his rising puppies, before doing the ballsiest thing he could.  
He took both of them at once. It drew out a loud groan from the snake, who timidly smiled at a patron startled by the noise, before he checked on the eager, moaning cocksucker. Angel had managed it down halfway with both the dicks in his mouth, taking his sweet time before finally swallowing them up with a sickening retch and hot drool squirting out onto Pentious' lap. His throat was bulging with their lengths, and his tongue was uselessly hanging from his soft lips as he looked up through his teary, ruined makeup for Pentious.   
Pentious, who was blushing, panting with delight between pitiful little hisses and mewls, staring into the slut's eyes below. How could Angel refuse that look? He pulled partly off the cocks, then slid right back down with a wet gag. Again and again, rising and falling with spit getting everywhere, and his throat convulsing on the huge dicks until finally Pentious could bear it no more. He took a fistful of Angel's fluffy hair and yanked the whore down with a loud grunt. Someone definitely heard that. The spider felt hot, sticky cum flood his guts with every desperate hump of the shaking serpent. He had to keep swallowing just to stop it from overflowing, and even then a bit managed to escape from his mouth before the snake was spent.   
Angel pulled off them, falling onto his ass as he panted heavily. Pentious could see Angel's dick twitching against the weighty black material of his corset, right between his still hard lengths. Unfortunately, Angel had his fill for the time being, especially as he had to cover his mouth lest that hot cum comes right back up and coat his chest in a neon slurry. 

  
With the grace of a feline, he crept back up from the floor, using each of his arms to take a firm grip of the table and seating, and rose before the shivering Pentious. Every glorious, panting inch of Angel, glistening in the laser-lit club. Those mismatched eyes drawing the snake hypnotically into his embrace. Into his kiss, as their lips parted to permit the slimy bioluminescent ejaculate to surge into both their mouths. He pulled free for a second to belch rather garishly, a bubble of still glimmering come bursting against his messy black lips before he re-embraced the lust-dazed serpent. In Sir Pentious' red eyes Angel was... perfect. He tasted even better. Tongues dragging over one another, cum slipping free of their slimy snogging with greater passion, greater feverous need, greater shiver-worthy delight, until finally the two men parted from another's mouth, and swallowed the shared cum and drool they'd so lovingly let slosh between them moments prior.   
  
"Ngh... That'll cost ya, y'know?" Angel teased, though he was entirely serious. He wiped away some of the stray mascara from his freckled cheeks and grinned heartily through glistening fangs.   
"So what now, handsome? Sun's not even up yet, and you still owe me a drink." He quickly glanced at the two empty glasses and giggled. "Another drink, then."


	17. S1C6: In an otherwise IMPerfect situation...

  
"M-Millie, can I borrow you for a second? Sweetheart? Apple of my eye? Millie, you know I love you, right?"  
"Uh-huh."  
"And I will always cherish you, forever and ever?"  
"Uh-huh?"  
"But... what in Hell's name are you doing?! He can't be in here! It's... It's weird! Not to mention extremely unprofessional." Moxxie leaned around the kitchen corner, keeping an ever-nervous eye on the 'welcome' intruder. Like a mangy dog sniffing through an overturned garbage can, Blitzo was going through everything he could get his sharp, long claws on. Photo-albums. Tv guides. He'd even taken to jamming his fingers in between the couch cushions to fish for lint and spare change (of which he casually jammed into his pockets like nobody was watching). A vile glare had crawled across the white-haired imp's face, but it quickly fled when the cheery, chipper Millie took his trembling hands into her own.  
The small woman was far less nervous than her concerned counterpart, and shared with him an earnest smile before making her case. Not that Moxxie had much of a chance in winning here anyway; his wife had already come so far. "Just give 'im a chance, darl. Look; only one night, okay? One. No more. That's all I'm askin' here. Yer always sayin' we need'ah have more guests 'round here, right? Just remember ta be nice. I don't ask for much, do I?" Her big, glistening puppy dog eyes were what really won Moxxie over, and after a few moments of bated breath he conceded with a defeated sigh. Millie could barely contain her excited, childish little jump of joy. 

  
Their boss, however, was having far less fun on his own. He'd decided to lounge about the pair's couch with his legs dangling over the edge like an absolute miscreant, flicking through what few TV stations they could afford on an equally cheap television. Channel 666, Channel 699, Channel 001. Channel 666, Channel 699...Christ on a stick; these fuckers seriously only had three channels. Ever the brat, he quite literally chucked the remote across the room and into the bushy foliage of an indoor plant that had not enjoyed proper care once in its sick, twisted life.   
"Aww..." he smiled at his latest find, stolen away from its hidden haven away from less curious soul than he; stashed beneath several magazines and self-help books. 'A box of chocolates to my dear Mox'. How sweet. He tore off the silk ribbon and promptly stuffed one of the delicacies into his fanged gob. Salted caramel. Nice. He tried another one then gagged in disgust, plucking the drool-ruined candy from his tongue and jamming it back into the box. Was that meant to be a cherry-jelly-stuffed chocolate? Gross. 

  
With a grin forced across his face, Moxxie returned with Millie in tow, though he wasn't able to hold the facade for long. "Oh, no, please; help yourself. Make yourself at home. I wasn't planning on eating my chocolates anyway." He lied through tightly grit fangs, an eye twitching with pure, tightly reigned rage.   
"I will, thank you." The big top (one night only) knew exactly which buttons to press, and made extra effort to really jam his fingers down on them as he pressed another cocoa-treat into his mouth. "Mhmm. Thrss rre rrlry grrd!"   
Moxxie's tail was starting to flick back and forth now, with one of his tiny cloven hooves tapping on the cheap carpet agitatedly. "Can I get you anything else? A glass of water, perhaps?"   
Blitzo stuck out his candy-stained tongue in disgust. "Tapwater? Ugh! Yuck! What do I look like to you; a dog?"  
It was too good for Moxxie to pass up. "Do you really want me to answer that?" A sharp elbow in his ribs from his enthusiastic wife instructed him along a different path.   
"Jeez! Someone's testy tonight. Can't believe you put up with that, Mil." Millie strolled passed her husband, making her way to sit beside their taller boss who shifted just for her (but not enough to be seated in any way resembling polite, proper or dignified.   
"Please don't call her that."  
That earned a sharp laugh out of Blitzo, as well as a giggle from Millie. Was everyone seriously against Moxxie tonight? How was he the one in the wrong here, and not this suited-up prick hogging the couch?! "Aww, is someone's having a bad time? No wonder you're the bottom."  
"I... what?!" The shorter male finally lost his calm, but lacked the diction or will to properly express it beyond half-finished sentences and glaring. If Blitzo kept this up he'd be going home in a body-bag. Well, actually, let's be real here? The worst he'd suffer from Moxxie would be a black eye, that was if the white-haired brat could reach so high.   
"And by the by, Millie, I must say you have excellent taste in chocolates." The lady of the house beamed with pride, eager for any and all of her boss's kind words. "Thank you, sir."  
"Those were mine!" Moxxie squawked, quite unwilling to be relegated to the side.  
"As for that new marital aid you picked up? Oh, I am so jealous! You simply must tell me where you find those things. It looks absolutely divine. And might I say that new bra from 'And Rosie's Emporium' is quite fetching"?  
The woman the hour was glowing, wriggling her plump little butt down on the sofa as she reveled in all this praise. "You may."  
"It is very fetching."

  
Poor Moxxie could only stand there, mouth open, stuttering in horror of what he was beholden unto. This wasn't real. He'd gone mad. Or perhaps all the denizens of Hell had lost their minds whilst he wasn't looking, leaving him the only sane imp in all the land? He refused to believe either, though he had his suspicions.  
"No. Nuh-uh. I refuse. No. This isn't happening." He pointed to the door, stomping in place. Blitzo looked at the finger, then back at Moxxie. What was that supposed to be? Was this an inner-city imp thing? Was he being mugged? Silence hung heavy in the air, and Blitzo didn't move. Clearly he didn't get the picture.  
"I'm directing you to the door."   
"And it's a very nice door? Thank you, Moxxie, for your input. Whatever would we do without it?" Moxxie finally lost it and shouted at the top of his lungs, stamping his little hooves on the ground again and again. Someone was having a temper tantrum, it seemed. Which, given it was a full-grown imp (of about three feet tall) stomping and shrieking, it was far more pathetic than it was intimidating.   
"I want him out of here at once! Out! Out of my home!"  
"OUR home." Millie barked, causing Moxxie to hunch up like a kicked dog with a pathetic whimper escaping his lips. It didn't take much to slaughter his bravado. "Moxxie, honestly. I expected better from you."  
"But I-"  
"No buts! Sit." Blitzo moved aside, finally giving Moxxie some room to sit down. The troublesome man resisted until Moxxie hissed at him, drawing him right where she commanded at once like a good, obedient puppy. As soon as he had taken his position, Blitzo leaned in and whispered: "Ooooh; busted." It seemed Millie's husband wasn't the only immature imp here.   
"I just.. I don't want him eating all my chocolates..." Moxxie whined, tapping the tips of his fingers together as he avoided his beloved's fiery gaze. Of all the things to mention - his marriage being tested, his position as the 'man of the house' (though we all know who really wears the pants around here) being challenged - he chose the chocolates. 

  
"Ya need ta relax, Mox. He's a welcome guest, an' he means well. He's just... troubled is all. He won't bite." She didn't know that. Not for certain, anyway. Moxxie cast a quick peek at Blitzo, who was waggling his brows at the little man and bearing his sharp fangs for inspection. He absolutely would bite if given the chance.   
"Anyway, ya always workin' yaself up fer nuthin'. Ya gotta cool it. Here, lemme." She reached behind the sulking man, gently rubbing her claws into his neck. All that aggression and frustration quickly faded from Moxxie as he melted into her touch. Soft, tender, careful fingers worked around his neck, and crept up amidst his fluffy white locks. His eyes slid shut and a mewl of delight was drawn from the little imp, who had fallen apart before Blitzo's very eyes. He was so easy to work with. The short boy rolled his head to the left to let those trained hands work out the kink in his neck that so often caused a headache, then leaned to the other side for her to oh-so-very-gently draw pretty patterns on his scalp. He felt her purring against his back, her breath falling down over his face; so sweet, and inviting. Moxxie reached up to kiss her and fell into the hot embrace of her lips in this dizzying beautiful moment.

  
Except those weren't his wife's lips. 

  
His eyes shot open to behold Blitzo's sickly yellow stare looking right back at him, never leaving him even as he fell off the couch in a terrified shriek. "Wh-what the fuck?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!" He screeched, spitting out the taste of his boss who looked very pleased with himself. All those recordings of Millie playing with her husband's hair had finally served their purpose.   
"Me? Nothing. I'm not the one who started kissing first. Besides, you're a lousy kisser. I figured Millie likes things stuffed in her mouth, but you don't have to jam your tongue in so early with everyone you snog."   
Moxxie blanched in disgust, looking about terrified for his wife who rather suspiciously wasn't in the room anymore. Maybe there was still a chance to fix all this? Oh God; what had he done?   
"I... I thought you... wh-where the Hell is my wife?"   
Blitzo shrugged, dusting off his tights before crawling down onto the lounge room carpet to join dear Moxxie could not decide whether to scream or run, even if he was incapable of doing either. He was frozen to the spot. A fly trapped in Blitzo's web. This was definitely one of his nightmare's come to life. "How am I supposed to know? She said she was going to 'freshen up'. Girl stuff or whatever. Boring~"  
The white-haired imp couldn't move. He couldn't pull himself away from those golden eyes, even as the predator came closer and closer. "I-I... y... wh... wha.... I..." He was lost for words but needed to say something. He had to say 'stop'. He needed to be free of this new, personal Hell. If given the chance he'd run screaming, lock the bedroom door and crawl beneath the covers to hide from everyone and everything, including his wife. How could she leave him here with him?  
"What's the matter, Mox? Cat got your tongue, huh buddy?" His boss took a firm grip of Moxxie's shoulders and pushed the smaller imp down onto his back. Blitzo was towering over him now, casting a shadow over the trapped boy, leaning in so close that the shivering little bitch could smell the chocolate on his breath. "Or is it me that's got you so worked up? Go on, Moxey-babe. Admit it; you need this even more than Millie does."

  
Millie? What in damnation did Blitzo know about Millie? Moxxie finally worked up the courage to speak his mind. For once he wasn't going to be silenced. For once he was going to tell Blitzo where to shove his job, how to shove it, and what particular variety of dick to go sit on afterward.   
The lounge room door was kicked open, and standing at the precipice of this sordid little moment was Millie, dressed up in her favourite ensemble. Her very favourite outfit. Long, thigh-high leggings with polished spikes around the trimming, accompanied with matching arm gloves and lacey undergarments that almost never saw the light of day. Her eyes; glowing with sheer ecstasy. Her painted lips spread into a ferocious grin, and this ravenous minx squeezed down on the tube of lube clutched within her hand to soak the massive, studded, easily-foot-long dildo strapped to her crotch in the clear goo. Her fanged smile managed to spread even further as she slapped the thick black strap-on for dramatic effect, making it bounce up and down before the two wide-eyed men. 

"Alright; which one of you boys wants to be Mama's bitch first?"


	18. S1C7: IMPs and IMPs and IMPs

  
Both Blitzo and the beautiful Moxxie bashfully blushed brightly, positively brimming with an eager, yet distinctly terrified excitement over the prospect of what exactly was presented before them. All 12, thick, studded inches of peak bliss soaked in shimmering transparent lubricant that refused to let go of their gaze. "Y'like whatcha see, huh boys?" Moxxie teased, giving the gigantic thing another wet 'thwack!'.   
It was so... thick! Blitzo was a sizable boy, sure, but he stood well over a foot above the teensy little couple. It was to be expected that his dick was much bigger. But even he had doubts about whether that hole-ruining dildo would fit. Fortunately, he didn't intend to leave such matters to theory when practical experimentation was far more exciting. Moxxie, on the other hand, had only wondered what was that big, chain-locked box Millie kept amidst all the other creative toys in her literal chest of fun (most of which rubbery wonders saw an equal share between the pair). There were more than a few sizable things she could press into him (their wedding night included - the taste of red wine on their lips, her white, fluffy dress hiked up with such a gorgeous 'marital aid' strapped on, ready, and prepped to appropriately 'aid' their ceremony aftermath) but this one was by far the largest.  
By the sweet, depraved depths of Hell; it was thicker than her arm! If Blitzo's advances hadn't drawn Moxxie towards arousal, then this commanding piece of hardware certainly would have on its own.   
"Jeez, Millie. Bit overkill don't ya think?" The tallest imp teased, testing the waters timidly. Millie's domineering tone melted away to let one of her trademark playful giggles out but was quickly taken back up as she sauntered over to the pair. Not with a skip, but with careful, hip-swaying steps that made both the dildo and her plush little tits jiggle. "Ah don't think it's anythin' ya boys can't 'andle." She leaned down to Moxxie, who had already begun to pull himself forward and up for her delicate, leather-bound touch. Her claws clasped around the smaller man's bowtie and yanked him up for a kiss, which he eagerly returned desperate to show off how much of a good boy he was. A small, but unmistakable bulge was twitching in his tight black leggings, catching Blitzo's attention.   
With the grace of a dancer, the darling Millie twisted on her cloven hooves and thrust her husband onto the couch, then turned to Blitzo. The odd one out was going to be dragged into this, no matter what Moxxie said. She NEEDED this. 

  
"Millie, dear?" Blitzo began, loosening his bowtie and sliding out of his coat.   
"Yes boss?"  
He neatly folded up his clothes, and left them on the floor, keeping only his frilly-collared maroon dress-shirt and incredibly tight leggings on. Had Moxxie known that his next payslip had been pre-emptively cut short to afford his boss a new set of clothes, he might very well have had a heart-attack before the fun began. And that would be absolutely no fun.   
"If I'm not still gaping by tomorrow morning I will be very disappointed in you."   
  
He needn't say more. Into her soft hands he climbed up, and was pushed onto the cheap sofa, with his ass and Moxxie's both pointed right at the woman. Both of their bubbly, gorgeous asses. Round, defined, oh-so-VERY kissable. She bit into her lip, slowly stroking her hand up and down the black strap-on. "Do Mama a favour an' get those pants off. With yah teeth." Blitzo and Moxxie looked at eachother for a second, weighing up whether or not they should or should not. 

  
They absolutely should.

  
Their mouths opened, sharp fangs spread as they fell into a kiss. Hot, sticky, and overlubricated with spit. Blitzo was ontop of Moxxie first (as any good boss in his position should), pushing his employee down and promptly smushing his round ass down on the overjoyed imps face. Moxxie couldn't see a damn thing, but he could feel more than enough. The massive, heavy length of cock freed to lay half-hard across his unbuttoned tuxedo, and that tight, twitching pucker his poor little nose was partly squished into was more than enough to make him writhe with bliss.   
He dug his claws into the hem of Blitzo's leggings, then pulled it down into his teeth to get a perfect view of that half-exposed, multi-toned red-and-white rump. The circus-freak slid forward some more, letting his smol bubble-butt free of its binding with a jiggle, then pulling all the way out of his leggings to leave Moxxie covered in the now-empty apparel.   
Millie was more than a bit awestruck by just how massive Blitzo was. His cock was positively gigantic. The little lady guessed he was a big top, but for one night only she would see that glorious thing in action. All those ridges, those glowing segments, the fucking piercings! Absolutely Heavenly, if Heaven was a cum-soaked, gaping morning after.   
With the abandoned pants left to fall onto the floor, now it was time for Moxxie's ass to be exposed for his lovely wife. What sort of a boss would Blitzo be if he didn't help the adorable little thing out of his leggings, anyway? Blitzo was upon him again in moments. Gently licking and sucking on the tip of the breathless, white-haired cutie's cock still firmly pressed down within tight fabric.   
Their boss moved up as if going for a kiss, but stopped to bite into the hem of the bratty bitch-boy's pants, and pulled them down with a little too much enthusiasm. They tore, and before Moxxie could inspect the damage they were tossed aside, leaving him and Blitzo to crawl up onto their knees, and present for Millie.

  
Each of their glorious, round boy-butts in full view, Millie could hardly contain her excitement. So plush, so defined, so... smooth! She slid up between them, planting black kisses on each of the two perfect things, unable to decide which she liked more. Both the men's cocks hung between their thighs; with Moxxie's adorable, but very eager length twitching just beyond his round balls, whilst Blitzo's gorgeous, fist-thick dick hung low over his gigantic, cum-stuffed balls. The thrilled dominatrix squeezed down on both of their asses, causing the pair to moan out in unison before finally giving in.   
"H-hey!" Moxxie shouted indignantly as his wife smushed headfirst into his ass, grinding her face up against his pulsing, frequently-dicked hole. Breathing in the smell of his plush little derriere, lost in this primal moment, she rolled her eyes up and dragged her slick, drooling tongue up between his cheeks. God, he tasted amazing! Moxxie groaned into the sofa head, rocking his rear back like a good pet before she broke free of the 'kiss', then spread Blitzo's rear to admire the goods. 

  
Well, it wasn't just his cheeks she spread. With her thumbs hooked into his pulsing hole, she pulled him open, causing him to mewl like the desperate whore he was. His pucker tried in vain to tighten despite those two fingers holding it open so that Millie could push her tongue into him, lapping at his insides. He tasted... a little like cotton candy, and cigar smoke. Not entirely unwelcome when compared to her husband's familiar flavour of ass. "Y-you're fucking good at th-that!" the carnival harlequin moaned, having to dig his fangs into the couch just to stop himself from crying out.   
Our darling impess pulled free, her mouth covered in spit and juices, before smushing her face back between his cheeks again to grind up against his now thoroughly lubed hole. Damn, who knew her boss smelled so good too? She only pulled free of his rear to attend to Moxxie's, which she followed up with more than enough sniffing and licking to make her mind swim in pheromones and desperate, heady need.   
By the time she'd had her fun she was so soaked in arousal that her thighs were positively glistening. But she had to keep it cool; she was in charge here, after all. Besides, the two men were certainly stirred up enough to be complete messes themselves. Both of them panting and looking back at Millie, eyes heavy with want and their cocks both dribbling glowing lava-like precum onto the couch. "Butter ma muffin, y'two are 'dorable!"   
Blitzo was her first target. She pulled the two boy's asses down to dicking level, making their rumps jiggle as she squished them together. Truth be told she could, and totally would be fine with just slobbering all over their boybutts throughout the night, but the primal need to leave them gaping and squirting was too much to resist.   
With trained expertise, Millie readied the massive dildo at the imps dark hole, and pushed into him. It took a bit of effort, given the sheer girth of the fat rod, but it eventually managed in past the head with that irresistible pop, and a shiver of delight from the lanky trickster. She didn't leave Moxxie out either; her fingers hooked into his tight, but very experienced rear with a squelch. She'd done this more than once, and began rolling her hips as she gently fingerfucked her husband's hot hole. 

  
Both of the boys fell apart, shivering desperately as their slick asses were stretched out, and left empty for but a few seconds before the invading length pressed back in to strain their rims and tease their holes.   
"F-fuck..." Both Blitzo and Moxxie hissed, staring into each other's yellow eyes through the haze of lust. Millie denied them another kiss when she grasped one of Blitzo's horns and yanked his head up, making him drool down his neck as she picked up the tempo. Moxxie was already close to cumming; she could tell by how his hole tightened and 'kissed' her fingers, and Blitzo was no different. The sheer volume of dick being rammed into his sloppy, squelching hole was enough to overstimulate anyone.   
She pulled free of them, admiring her handiwork before sliding onto the couch with a delighted giggle. Her toyboys were whimpering for a release so very close, but they followed the steps of this dance obediently and began to work her dick. Each of them licking up and down the sloppy, studded pole of pleasure whilst Millie reached over them and hooked her fingers inside their asses. She gleefully pressed her fingers against their loosened rims, stretched them as she began to work their slimy assholes, teasing them closer and closer to release. They were barely able to keep kissing and worshipping her massive dick for but a few moments before they squirted. Holes spluttering noisily, clear lube jetting from their holy-Hell-tight holes around such welcome fingers, each of them shivering like little bitches as they rode down from their high. Eyes lost in lust as they lavished Millie in loving smooches, leaving her efforts feeling quite appreciated. But the night was still so very young. 

  
She pushed Blitzo onto his back, exposing his gorgeous cock which, with a handful of white hair, she willed her wimpish impish husband to. Poor Moxxie gagged at the smell of cock, quite unused to it, but soon enough his mouth started watering as he was ground up against it. It was easily bigger than his head, and would take considerable effort just to stretch his jaw wide enough to fit it. Millie was already atop him, hot-dogging the massive ebony dick between his cheeks, thrusting him down into the glowing-precum-dribbling cock.   
"Go on, sweetheart. Suck it for Mama." Her words were harsh and made the white-haired hubby squirm with sick satisfaction. He pulled atop the huge thing, quite daunted by the size, but did his best to take the head in his mouth. That wasn't good enough for Millie. She jammed his mouth down it, causing a vile retch out of her husband as hot spit squirted around Blitzo's massive dick. Moxxie's throat was so tight and convulsed around the obedient boss who bucked his hips up in clear frustration. 

  
The tip of the black cock was pressed down into her husband's hole, sliding in without stopping. He groaned through bubbling spit for she pressed deeper and deeper with such ease, until her hips reached his ass with a wet slap, and Moxxie was left a drooling, fucked-silly mess so soon.   
Millie kept her claws tightly entwined in her husband's hair as she started to rhythmically rock in and out of him. When all of that cock was jammed in, he was permitted reprieve from Blitzo's fat dick violating his throat, but when it pulled out he felt the hot cock slide in so deep that his stomach churned with horrid delight, causing him to gag every single time without fail.   
He was a teary-eyed mess, and Blitzo's spit-soaked crotch wasn't much better in terms of presentability. Below the trio, the white haired cutie's punitive penis came hands-free. Glowing cum weakly jetting from his smaller dick as he was pounded into, but still, it stayed hard, bouncing in place as his wife had HER fun with him. She was thrusting into him faster now, spurred on by her husband's orgasm, grinning at the panting Blitzo who was doing his best not to drown Moxxie in cum. Once more she pressed in, this time as deep as she could while jamming the wide-eyed white-haired weakling down his boss's cock. All the way.   
Words could not describe the sheer satisfaction she felt when her strap-on pressed up against Blitz' own dick, meeting deep inside her bottom-bitch husband. Blitzo couldn't not blow his load right then and there, with hot, lava cum flooding Moxxie's stomach until it too couldn't take any more. Moxxie was already a gagging mess, but now all that cum would not be kept down and burst out around the taller imp's cock. Not only that, but it bubbled and spluttered out of his ass and onto his wife's lap. Millie's eyes went wide, rocking back and forth weakly despite fully intending to keep the dick jammed right into her husband. She just couldn't help herself - the whole moment was just too hot. The motions also didn't help, forcing more and more of the orange-and-red-hot goop out both of the twinky fleshlight's ends. The impess let out a squeak of shrill delight as she too came, pressing her thighs together as she squirted through her panties. Once she had ridden her orgasm to its end, Millie fell onto her back and out of her husband, who promptly slid off Blitzo's dick and was left squirted boiling imp cump from both ends. Millie had only ever came like that once before, and it had been after a solid day of pent-up arousal and edging. This was... a new experience for her. She wanted more.

  
"Nghah... Now don't ch'all go passin' out yet." She teased, gently tapping dear Moxxie with her booted hoof which spurred a gargling "Ngghress" out of him. Millie snapped her fingers before the pair of spent bottoms, earning their attention before directing them to her lap with an impatient patta-patta-pat. "Come'ahn Mox. Gimme a kiss." Obediently, the cum-soaked imp crawled onto her, his pathetic little cock grinding along her cum-soaked dildo of significantly larger proportions as he did so. He opened his mouth but was immediately pressed aside with a gag from his wife. "Eugh! Babe, ya stink of dick! Hang'on.. Blitz?" Blitzo looked over from his soggy seating feeling decidedly drained, though his libido was yanked back into the fray when Millie spread Moxxie's loose, gaping, cum-overflowing ass wide. "Ya gotta knock'im up more'n that. Mama want's some babies outta her boy."   
Their boss had... absolutely no idea what the Hell Millie was talking about, but he didn't care because that loose, sloppy arsehole was too good to resist. He clambered on top of the white-haired imp, pushing his substantially thicker length in with a splurt of cum escaping Moxxie freely. As the exhausted Moxxie groaned, his wife pulled him in for a sloppy, orgasm-lubed-up kiss. Every inch of his mouth was marinated in cum, and Moxxie was determined to taste every inch of it. Still steaming-hot lava dribbled out between them, tongues dancing over one another in between each of the smaller male's moans of pleasure.   
His poor asshole was a wreck; gaping, spurting hot juices, unable to keep quiet due to the raw quantity of cum being forced out between those Godless ridges, and the sheer volume of dick being forced in. The couple both had their hands wrapped around Millie's massive dildo, jerking it off as they shared in their deep, semen-soaked kiss, all the while Blitzo was ramming himself into those plush, sweaty buns. He wasn't left out, and at the behest of Millie, leaned over Moxxie (who barely managed a squawk of annoyance as his face was squished against her rubber dick) to kiss her. Her soft, black lips tasted of sex, and his own cum. They only broke away as Blitzo groaned, nearing yet another climax.   
"Don't slow down ahn' ma account. Ah wann'im bred like a good doggy. Breed his ass." Millie patted Moxxie's ass, working that bubble butt, rocking her husband down against Blitzo until another torrent of hot, glowing cum came spurting out of Moxxie's mouth. His face smushed into his wife's stomach, quite literally puking mouthful after mouthful of hot, glowing cum as Blitzo emptied his balls into the bitch. Millie squealed with delight, almost cumming again as she watched Blitzo pull out of his employees sloppy bitchpit with a gross 'Pop!'. 

  
"Ngh, fuck yes..." She sighed, admiring just how thoroughly gaped her darling was. "One mah' thing. Ya got that in ya, right boys?" Blitzo was exhausted, and Moxxie was a completely cum soaked, sticky mess. But they didn't refuse. Millie climbed off the couch, getting on her knees as the two men stumbled up onto their quaking legs, manhood bouncing as they moved. The demoness licked her glossy lips, taking such a tight grasp of their cocks that her toyboys squeaked in shock. 

  
"You wanna make Mama happy, right?" She questioned her playthings, working her tiny claws down both of them at once. Moxxie was already bucking his hips, given his cock had been so unattended to through the raunchy evening, whilst Blitzo, in some depraved moment of need, was sucking on two of his claws like a cock. They were all shiny with sweat, and sticky with cum, quivering as Millie worked them faster and faster.   
"Come ahn. Ah want it.." She commanded, heart pounding with anticipation. "Cum on ma face. Ah need it so bad. Cover ya slut in all that spunk. Ah want it. Do it! Do it!" She finally got her wish as rope after rope of glowing, boiling, torrid cum covered her face. Both Blitzo and Moxxie moaned into their orgasms, shaking with what little energy they had left as the very last of their reserves were run dry. Millie let go of their softening lengths once they were done, wiping a stray strand of cum from her cheek before smiling up at them through a veritable bucket-load of viscous imp orgasm. Millie couldn't decide which one she wanted to kiss first, but by the time she was done she would see them both covered in her lipstick.   
"Ahghn... Good boys."

  
The three imps collapsed onto the bed, steaming from the sheer exertion of the night. The bedsheets were so cool and refreshing against their sweat-slick bodies. With Millie in the middle, she pulled the near-comatose boys into her embrace, which they eagerly snuggled up into. Their eyes were heavy, and no words were shared between them now. Satisfaction, rapture, and the gentle sensation of hot breath dancing across exposed skin. The room is quiet, save a few post-coital moans and the occasional dribble of cum escaping Moxxie's thoroughly gaped ass.  
The room is dark, with very little light bleeding in through the blinds from the always lit neon signs beyond the bounds of their apartment. The room is filled with three tiny, sleeping imps, who feel completely secure in one another's sweaty, warm embrace.


	19. S2C10: Sugar-Sweet Terror

  
A single cherry dangled from the spider's soft, glossy lips, its stalk held between sharp fangs. He was trying to play it cool. He knew how to do that. It was all an act, and one our starlet slut surprisingly couldn't work his ass into. Angel kept nervously chewing on the hard stem, before he plucked the overly sweet fruit from his mouth and examined the shapes dancing across its slimy surface. Smoke had claimed the room's ceiling long ago, and only the pallid glow of the electric-lit chandelier was permitted to illuminate the crooked souls beneath, excluding the red shine of their cigars slowly drawn on. Each of them looked at eachother around this whiskey-stinking table, eyeing one another down like wild animals straining at unwanted leashes. 

  
When his wealthy company had suggested the pair go somewhere a little more private, the silken spider thought of the back of a limo, with tall glasses bubbling with champagne and every inch of those scaled curves his to feel up and cover in kisses. Perhaps a private room, with an unlimited supply of dust and glass upon glass of bubbling pink martini for the bubbly bottom to down with glee? Or Hell; he'd have taken a cheap hotel room (though an expensive one did have its appeal to his quickly richening tastes) above whatever this fresh Hell was. Poker was... well, Angel enjoyed the vices of the world, that's for certain. He enjoyed booze, and men, and hard drugs, and lust, and yet more men, but this shit was beyond slow. Worse yet was the company.   
He looked to his immediate right, and eyed up his content cobra cohort who was more than happy to, despite being in the midst of these strangers, puff upon his... was that a vape? What in God's name is a 'Juul' and why did it make Angel think of pimple-ridden teenagers standing outside gas stations hawking gullible adults down? Sir Pentious was fine enough, but the others...  
Johnny Two Fins, who still scratched at his gills despite being told by everyone it just made them inflamed, and therefore itched worse, was not a pretty sight. Not since he lost one of his fins in a nasty pub brawl somewhere in the 80s.  
Coilgun, who's moustache was as sharp as his many discerning eyes, and yet somehow he wasn't keen enough to identify that cowboy hats and spurred boots had long since gone out of fashion. By now he was just a sad, dismal reminder of the past, albeit with several very itchy trigger fingers.   
And worst of all? Angel's brother, the dear Arackniss with his short stature, short temper, and definitely kissable tail-end, who was nervously sipping on his brandy, and burning through cigarette after cigarette in a clearly failing attempt to soothe his nerves.

  
It was official; Angel had slept with everyone seated at this table. 

  
Well, almost everyone. That giggling demon with a flat pyramid for a head and only one eye, dressed up in more yellow and black than Angel could bear to look at was the exception, but he wasn't technically 'sitting' anywhere. The top-hat-bearing prick thought floating above his seat was a real hoot. The porn-star would, admittedly, still fuck him if given the chance, but his taste in men was less a matter of what he liked, and more a matter of what few quantifiers pushed guys out of his comfort zone. What very, very few quantifiers.   
It was clear why Angel was nervous, but why was Arackniss nervous? The answer was plain as day. A single empty chair. The one closest to the door, reserved for a late guest.   
As far as Angel knew, that could only mean one thing.

  
"Penty," Our beloved, charming dear expertly fitted into a corset of distinct elegance whispered into Pentious black locks, feigning a few awkward smiles for the other poker players. "Don'tcha think we'd be better off somewhere else? I'm thinkin' we ditch these squares, agitate the gravel in some nice wheels, and then I get my claws into ya-" His sultry suggestions spurned by slowly rising paranoia were cut short as the dapper gentleman set his cards down with a triumphant hiss.   
"Full Ssssseventh Housssse!" he proclaimed with an air of smugness, much to the other players dismay (and Angel's) as they cast their own hands away. Surprisingly, the often out-of-touch villain was very skilled at Poker, but is that so bizarre to imagine? How different could Poker within the realm of Hell be from (in no particular order or relevance to Pentious' grandmother-like interests) Vint, Solitaire and 'Old Maid'?   
In the briefest manner of explaining it as not to bore any newcomers to the game, there were five card houses, three different types of aces, and the jokers were actually important to the deck. Not just that, but the order in which you play the cards is all backwards and often involves outright lying to your fellow players. Knives, guns, and broken bones are to be expected in almost every game, and if a game is without them? Then something has gone horribly, horribly wrong.   
In short, the game is geared towards cheating, and it is custom to cheat, cheat, and cheat again until you are incapable of playing a single straight card. Deception, defrauding, and double-crossing is the modus operandi of the sport. It was simply a matter of not being caught. If you weren't caught, then did you really even cheat? 

As Pentious pulled his towering earnings amidst his veritable treasure trove of chips, Angel considered his escape options. He could, even if it was so very dramatic, cut tail and bolt right then and there. If he were quick enough he might scurry out whilst the serpent wasn't looking, but his dear brother would catch him for certain. He had simply too many eyes to let someone as appealing as Angel flee the scene. Though would he stop the whore? Arackniss put out the burning butt of his cigarette into the table's edge, then downed the remainder of his brandy. With how stressed the black little spider was, perhaps Angel might just be able to flee?   
Or, hypothetically, Angel could upturn the entire table and escape in the confusion. Chips flying everywhere, and his perky derriere promptly deserting the poker den. But, then that leaves the problem of Sir Pentious, and the cherry chewing slut did want to keep in his good graces. At least, until he decided whether or not to ask the snake for a small loan in order to pay back his various debts, debtors, and dime demanding devils that come knocking wherever Angel rests his bruised rear.   
"I sssssay, chapsss," The long-haired snake somehow managed to slide his smarmy words through his smug smile in direct contrast of how agitated the other demons were getting, and how likely he was to start losing those wonderful, sharp fangs. "I do hope you have ssssomething better than chipsssss to wager. I will have you know I haven't losssst a sssssingle round in the many yearsss I have been down here. I am quite the 'epic gamer'." He plucked his bow tie, grinning down at the other men through slit eyes. "You do wissssh to go again, right?"  
None of the other men spoke up at first. They looked at one another nervously, then back at their paltry piles of playing chips. Defeat had robbed them of their words, even if they were ready to carve themselves a new seat of snake-skin boots. It was Arackniss who opened his venom-scented mouth to accuse Sir Pentious first, as is the right of the host, but soon lost his voice when the door opened. 

  
Clack.

  
Clack.

  
Angel's heart dropped to the bottom of his chest and practically slid out of the chair without him. Were he still in possession of a ghost right now, it might very well have drifted free of his mouth. His mismatched eyes shot left, shot right. The sound of ruffling silk, and fur. A looming presence leisurely emerging from the shifting shadows of the club's backroom.

  
Clack.

  
Clack.

  
The smell of expensive cigars lined in gold and diamond-studded boots licked clean and polished by all manner of contract-gripped demons. The stink of nauseating perfume richer and more liberally applied than Angel could stand barely masked the fresh scent of gore that always found itself wetting the tip of that solid gold cane, and the heels of those familiar, painfully sharp heels.   
Arackniss pulled his empty glass up to his lips, found it only bore ice, and instead went for the open bottle instead. _Why couldn't it have been Henroin?_ That would have been awkward, sure, but at least Angel knew what the score was with him. The whore was shivering, shaking, and nervously scratching at the counter of the table. Why couldn't they have left sooner? Why didn't he run as soon as he had the chance? He had known something was up. Why the fuck had he wasted his time waiting? Pulse racing up and down his body, Angel slowly turned to his left, before beholding a very, very, very familiar man towering high above the still-seated demons with rich, ruby-red eyes focused solely and exclusively upon him.

  
 ** _"Angel, Baby."_** Valentino's grin stretched itself even wider than what must have been comfortable with a rubbery squeak, showing off each, and every one of his flesh tearing, red fangs. 

  
**_"Did'ja miss Daddy?"_ **


	20. Intermission

  
Raw, peak panic. Heart pounding. He's desperately scanning the bathroom through wild eyes. He can't find an exit. Oh God, he can't find an exit! What did he do to deserve this? Was it the drugs? It was absolutely the drugs, wasn't it? Or was it all the sodomy?   
Angel turned the tap on full blast and splashed the icy water against his face before it even had a chance to warm up. The dolled-up whore beyond the border of the mirror was haggard and worn, messy and bedraggled. No. He wasn't going down that path. His bag was thrust onto the sinktop, and soon half the supplies were cast to the floor as he scoured the container for literally anything to get high with. He'd take fucking nail polish now if it meant he could escape all of this.   
"Fuck!" he shouted, sending the remainder of the bag's contents scattering across the women's bathroom. He looked at the mirror again, and his reflection stared back. Judging him. Had he always looked so... so old? Above his freckles, he could swear he saw bags under his eyes, and his fur was dirty and sullied. He always looked like this, didn't he? He was just too coked up to notice. 

  
The bathroom door swung open abruptly, and once more Angel's backbone was crushed beneath the domineering **CLACK** of Valentino's golden cane. The pimp leaned in, with his bright, feathered, and absolutely immaculate hat dragging across the roof as he did so. He had already taken the entrance, leaving Angel boxed within the often unused VIP bathroom. Nobody was coming to save him from this familiar horror. Trapped like a terrified deer beneath that red, piercing headlights hidden beneath gold-rimmed hearts.  
 _ **"Angel..."**_ Every word that Valentino set forth upon the terrified bitch was like cancer. As soon as they crept into Angel's ears they made him want to be sick, and the feeling would only grew. They slithered down his throat, gagging him, and sitting heavy in his stomach.   
**_"What's this we're doing? Playing with has-beens and run-down gangsters again?"_ **The monster began to clean his golden fang with that oh-so-familiar, easily metre-long tongue before his trademark rubbery grin returned. Angel was quaking in his place, knuckles white with how tightly he was clutching the sink. His owner crept further in, and even though the bathroom was so very tall to accommodate the more sizable demons, it barely fit Valentino. This was already his den now. Angel's refuge had been stolen from him, and now even the walls felt like they were leaning in on the fearful plaything.   
The scent of Valentino was unbearable, and it made the porn-star gag. The perfume was so intense, and the smell of mutilated demons so thoroughly soaked every square inch of Valentino. The cherry-red overlord of all Lust. "I... I didn't think-" Angel's voice was completely devoid of any impudence, or even the faintest sliver of flirtiness. He just wanted to live.   
_**"No, you don't think, do you?"**_  
"I-"  
 ** _"Say it."_** Valentino was quick, and vicious. What looked like wine, but was most likely blood, was dripping from between his teeth, sullying his heart-peppered fur collar. The poor arachnid felt tears welling up in his eyes, threatening to burst forth. But he held them back. He had to, or it would just piss Valentino off more.   
"...I don't think...sir."

  
This seemed to please the overlord, who straightened up despite his confining locale. It just meant he covered more of the roof, and boxed Angel further in. The lanky, lusty spider who was all legs, presently felt quite a lot like his household counterparts, caught within the sharp paws of a cruel housecat. To be toyed with, and torn limb from limb for its amusement.  
He'd moved so far away from Valentino that he'd already found the wall preventing any further room between them. Soon even that was taken from him as he slid down onto his ass, courtesy how light-headed he was from the fear. He crossed his legs instinctively, trying to hide it. Beneath Valentino's shadow, beneath all that raw, unmistakable, terrifying power, Angel was getting turned on.   
  
Years upon years within the realm of Valentino's cruelty had conditioned Angel to live for it. Would he run again, or would he just fall deeper into those glowing, rose-red eyes?   
**_"Who is Daddy's favourite little girl?"_**  
Angel winced, digging his claws so deeply into his palms that they started to bleed. He hated it when Valentino called him that, and he hated even more how it made him feel.   
"I-I am."

  
 ** _"Really?"_** Valentino took a few moments to consider such an absurd concept, before jamming his claws into the walls with a loud crash, and a yelp from Angel. But the little spider dare not scream. Screaming was worse than crying. The tiled surface began to crack, and crumble from the sheer force of those murderous claws, and yet all this malice was just so that Valentino could lean down. Lower, lower, until his face was inches from Angel's. His blue, corpse-like skin had been wiped clean prior to entering the club, but there were still specs of dried blood around the edges, and between his fangs. His breath was hot, and heavy like raw petrol.   
**_"Because right now she's not back at the studios like she should be. Right now she's wasting my fucking time. But that's okay."_**

  
This was how he died. Angel had no doubt in his mind. His eyes - both white and black - were locked on Valentino. As unreasonable as it was, he wished he was looking at something else before he was snuffed out. He wished he was home, with his darling Nuggets, somewhere safe. Somewhere, anywhere, that wasn't here.   
The pimp pulled a lone, knife-sharp claw free of the wall, and drew it softly along Angel's throat, leading his chin up so that he couldn't look away. As if he could deny his overlord's gaze? He could feel the whore's cold sweat amidst his fine, soft fur. He could smell his fear, his terror, his horror. It was like fine wine to him.  
 ** _"It's okay, sugar-tits, because I know she's going to come back to her Daddy. See, I'm not going to compete with all these little boys you like to date. It's... cute, but we both know who you really love, don't we, sweetheart? And when you come back, you're going to get on your knees..."_** His voice was so rich, like velvet soaked in blood and poison. Every word he set loose on Angel, worming into the whore's ears, was squeezed between crimson fangs. Fangs which were so tall and so sharp that they could pierce through the spider's throat with minimal effort, and still have room to chew through the slut's jugular. He could easily shred the wayward drug-addict's stomach with one soul-destroying, agonizing mouthful, and tear his intestines free without a second's thought. Angel tried to cover his crotch, to hide the twitching length of shame brought on by terror, but he knew it was pointless. There was nothing he could hide from Valentino.

 ** _"...And you're going to beg."_** He pulled away from Angel, and from the wall to leave the breathless bitch shaking between the overlord's trail of destruction. Surrounded by holes that could very easily have been left in his flesh instead. Valentino reached within his fur coat, and pulled forth a small bag of dust. Little flecks of crystal were clearly visible in it, and it was faintly pink. He tossed it onto the floor in front of Angel, who leapt upon it in his desperation. He couldn't believe his eyes. It was the highest quality dust he'd ever seen. It was so pure that it made his knees weak with anticipation. But before he dared to snort it, he looked up at Valentino. And immediately regretted it.

Valentino was looking down at him, with his narrow gaze tightened further by just how wide his Cheshire-cat smile was. He was nothing compared to Valentino. He was scum - pathetic, and worthless. He didn't deserve to even breathe near him, let alone the honour of being crushed beneath those sharp heels. ** _  
"Aren't you, Angel-cakes?" _**

But before the whore could manage another pathetic reply, the pimp had left, with only the door swinging back to mark his departure, until it too fell quiet. Just Angel, and the aftermath of what waking nightmare he had barely escaped. Within seconds our fluffy floozy collapsed, curling up amidst all the broken ceramic tiles, shaking with disgust. He hated it. He hated it all.

  
But most of all, he hated that Valentino was right. That's why he had left Angel alone, wasn't it?   
He'd left because he didn't need Angel's acknowledgment.  
He had left because he already knew the answer to his question.


	21. S2C11: Such Simple Techniques, yet Such Superlative Tenacity

  
There is an added pep in Angel's step when he returns to the dim back room, but the unmistakable mark of terror still remains behind those faintly glossed-over eyes. His heart may have been pounding behind a bosom so plush that it weighed heavily in his tightly-affixed blazer, but the effects were not so skin deep. How Angel smiled a little too slowly when Arackniss half-heartedly welcomed his own kin back into the dark den. How Angel nervously scratched at his arm, casting constant, worried looks towards the towering, thin demon of lust, who loomed high over each and every demon at the table. This was also his realm now.  
What had once been a bloodthirsty, on-edge ambience had simmered right down, because now the demon winning could (and, at a whim, would) disembowel everyone here. Valentino flicked his cards onto the table - two aces - which guaranteed his victory. The Devil's trident.   
Johnny, Coilgun, and Arackniss all groaned out in dismay as they were forced to concede to such a winning hand. Sir Pentious, however, did not complain in the slightest as he forked over a swaying tower of stacked tokens. In fact, he seemed positively pleased as punch.   
"My dear Valentino; Your ssssskillssss have ccccertainly not been ssssstunted with age. Do you recall in '32 when you trumped Lady Bellfoul'sss sissster mossst thrasssshingly? Oh what a hoot that wasss." He hissed, smiling smug as ever despite several car's worth of chips being carried free of his clutch.   
The pimp's own smile fell for but a moment as he looked the serpent up and down.  
 ** _"No... And, you are?"_**

  
Our poor python's courage was yanked free of him with a wheeze, though a hearty gulp of the liquid variety soon fixed that. Where had the years gone? Why, more accurately, did nobody seem to remember him? The grandiose battles, the majestic wars, the... events that absolutely took place beyond his fantasies. Those were all very much real, at least to Sir Pentious.   
Or perhaps they did happen? Who is really to say? After all, Angel wasn't one for politics.   
**_"I see there are still winnings on the table._** " The overlord leaned down, covering a good section of the shared bench as he did so whilst knocking over the chittering, out-dated cowboy's drink. The gunslinger dare not complain though. ** _"Care for another game, boys?"_**  
A general sense of unease and reluctance was shared amongst the demons, excluding Pentious of course. He didn't know when to leave well enough alone.   
"Oh absssssolutely. I do believe I can 'pony up' for another round, ssssay; what ssshall it be thiss time? Two grand? Three?" Angel, being longer and faster than his brother, quickly pulled the cards up and began restacking them one atop the other. A stacked deck was the safest bet every time, as shuffling just meant further intervention, and to do so would spark undue interest in the spider. A spider who, at the present moment, wanted to fade away from this whole scene. But his leash was too short for that.   
In all honesty, it was nice knowing the serpent for as long as he did, but this was it for him. Surviving the Radio Demon was one thing, but Valentino too? That's not something any demon can say, at least, unless they have 'volunteered' to spend their afterlife breathing through a straw.   
**_"Ten."_**

  
Angel's eyes went wide, his mouth watering at the thought of all that money. That's enough to put a decent dent in his debt for a month or two. He could live in a nice motel for a week that had a stocked minibar, and lights that worked. And a pool that wasn't slimy and filled with leeches. A real one - with heated water and pool-boys carrying steaming towels and champaign on trays. So very, very many pool-boys.   
The deal was struck, and the floozy passed the cards to the men. First to Pentious, who was a little too invested in the game for his own good, and then to Valentino who blew a gore-stinking kiss at the whore. He then set three cards face down upon the table. The first was flipped. Three of spades.  
 ** _"So tell me... 'Pen-shoes', was it?"_** Valentino was harsh, rolling the name about on his tongue like a sweet gone bad.   
" _SIR_ Pentioussss, actually. You might know me from my many territorial take-overssss. I wassss even on the televissssed newsssss broadcasssst a few weekssss passsst." Angel leaned around to take a look at Sir Pentious cards. It's not like he was playing, anyway. He didn't have a dime to bet, and his ass unfortunately wasn't worth THAT much. A two of hearts, and a jack of flames. That's... not the best.   
**_"I see. And you're a... 'villain'? Don't you think you'd be better suited to children's comics, not playing at being an overlord, 'friend'?"_** He took a look - a quick glimpse - a the pimp's two cards. A one of diamonds, and a three of hearts. That's even worse. Angel turned the next card over - a Four of Spades.   
"I prefer to think of myssself ass a 'Gentleman'ssss Villain'. You know how it isss." He cast a smile at Angel, who felt a faint warmth blossoming on his cheeks. The porn-star quickly swallowed any happiness he might have been enjoying when he felt hateful, fiery red, heart-shaped eyes glue themselves to the back of his neck. "Dynamite, Lassssersss, Tying buxom young maidensss to train trackssss."   
Angel wanted to giggle, but he couldn't. He wasn't permitted to. 

  
**_"Uh-huh. Cute."_ **The dizzying high that Angel was waltzing through, while pleasant enough to take the edge off this entire evening, was not intense enough to make him forget what he had just seen moments prior. And he could have sworn that Valentino's hand bore a one of diamonds. Now it was a two... no, three? Four? The number kept rising, each flicking one after the other until it rose to a five of spades. And its company soon rose too. It was clear that Valentino wasn't going to lose - period. Losing wasn't even in his vocabulary.   
"I believe this match is over. Angel, you'll flip the third card for Daddy, won't ya?"   
"Y-yes Val." This was wrong. It wasn't like he necessarily cared about the stuck-up snake, but it still felt unpleasant knowing he was being ripped off. It was his own fault for betting against Valentino, anyway. If you're stupid enough to play with an overlord you deserve to have your wallet bled dry.   
But then why did he still feel so bad about it all?   
Sir Pentious wasn't the least bit phased when the card Angel flipped was a six of spades, which fit perfectly with the overlord's rigged set of cards thrust across the playing field. What few chips still remained on the clever-dressed cobra's side were taken into four eager, long arms. Once again, Valentino won. He'd always won.   
**_"Oh, baby-doll, Would you look at that? He's all run dry. What a shame."_** Valentino's ruddy blue skin squeaked as he grinned yet wider. His fur coat bristled with joy, as if it were an extension of his very being. What worried Angel the most was that the snake wasn't put down by losing such a fortune. What the Hell was he up to?  
"A jolly good play, Misssster Valentino. My hat goessss off to you." Pentious reached atop his black locks for a particular, sentient piece of attire that no longer remained there, much to his surprise. Across the other side of the club his hat was nesting between two booze-soaked coats, and someone's wayward boot. Rats.   
**_"_ _Well, since we're done here..."_** Valentino tapped his claws on the table, turning each and every chip on it to pure gold (all of which were his now), before sliding them off into a swirling pink vortex beyond the wooden edge. His own personal, spacially shifting, kinetic piggy-bank if you will. Such matters were, after all, trivial for true overlords of Hell. What could the lesser demons possibly have that could compare to a veritable demigod? Even Arackniss didn't call him out on cheating. They all nervously sipped their drinks, and made various excuses as to why they needed to leave suddenly. A daughter's wedding, clothes in the laundry, some debts that needed to be paid off. 

  
Everyone except Sir Pentious.  
"Oh brother..." Angel groaned, wincing as the very defeated, but still emotionally undefeated royal drummed his own, glossy-pink nails on the table. They were far shorter than the porn-king's, not that anyone was measuring. "Sssssay, you wouldn't be interessssted in raissssing the ssstakes a little more, would you Misster Valentine?"  
Whilst behind Valentino, Angel desperately made cutting motions across his neck at the snake, his eyes wide with fear. Shit, what the fuck was the prissy bitch getting himself into? Did he want to die? Was this the most long-winded suicide he'd ever witnessed? What the fuck was wrong with the cobra?   
Safe to say, Valentino was interested.   
**_"Oh?"_**  
  
"You sssseee..." The snake began, drawing a cheque-book from his coat pocket. "I would like to ssssuggessssst a deal. A worthy bet between refined fellowsss sssuch asss we." He plucked an ink-pen from his pocket too, and with a few quick slashes carved out a number that made Angel positively weak at the knees. Even Arackniss spat his drink. Who would have guessed those that sit pretty at the top of the Capitalistic food-chain have the richest fat to throw around?   
"And on my part?"   
"Him." A single, pink claw was directed to Angel, who felt the entire room's eyes lock on his fluffy white ass. Valentino's buttons had been pressed, but he laughed it off. Pentious was still not undermined.   
"You want... him? That thing?" The porn-star felt his smile fall, and he looked at the dirty floor. He thought it was kind of nice to think someone valued him so much. He wanted to be worth that much. Despite this, the cherry pimp leaned back over the table to cast his shadow over Pentious, revealing all those glittering, glowing eyes within the gloom.   
**_"That won't cut it. Not even for a year."_**

  
"Ah! Sssso we have agreed that Angel hasss a priccce, and the matter hasss now moved on beyond the immediate sssstage of bartering to the sssecondary ssstage of negotiationsss." For the first time in Angel's unlife, he beheld Valentino falter. "Then how long would thissss ssssizable chunk of my fortune buy, hmm? A week? Two?"  
Valentino sensed weakness and took it by the throat. He grinned - wider, wider, and yet wider. So very wide that his face was covered in wrinkles from doing so. He was absolutely grotesque, hidden behind rows of red teeth and studded glasses.   
"Now don't go weighin' ya dimes yet." The smaller of the brothers piped up, slamming the now empty bottle down on the table with a hard 'thud'. "I ain't gonna watch my family get bought 'n sold, not under ma roof. Y'can't just wrap a pretty bow'n 'im an-!"   
**_"Oh, but I will. Are you going to stop me, little man? Or do you want Daddy's permission first?"_** Arackniss' words were caught in his throat as Valentino covered the ground between them immediately, leaning well over the table and grinning wildly. Oh how he enjoyed this. This was what he lived for - fear, power, control. It was the richest drug he had ever known.   
From beyond the murky haze, the rich glow of Valentino's Valentine-themed glasses lit up and locked onto the prideful python, whose own slitted peepers were shining right back at him. He was fully and completely ready for the next round. Or perhaps he just thought he was.

  
 ** _"One week."_**  
Valentino slid back into his seat, forcing the high-backed chair to creak under the sheer weight of the Overlord. His eyes, along with everyone in the rooms, were locked on Angel as he set the cards out. Three in the centre. Two for each of the 'overlords'. He began to turn the cards.

  
Jack of Hearts. 

  
**_"You are throwing quite a lot of money away, 'friend'. I hope you know that."_**  
Queen of Hearts. Angel looked into Valentino's hand. The cards were flicking through every single combination relative to the cards as they turned. This was his room, this was his whore, and now this was his game. Everything was the pimps. It was all, always, forever going to be his, and his alone.   
**_"I think I'll buy a new limo with your money. One with snakeskin seating, all leather interior, and nice golden rims. And then I'll have them burn it."_** That made Pentious twitch. Clearly Valentino was getting under the serpent's shiny scales.

  
King of Hearts. Valentino's glasses shone bright with delight as the cards stopped shuffling, settling on twin Jokers. Hell's highest hand: The Hellwalker's Flush. ** _"Mister whatever-your-name-was, it was fun while it lasted, but as you can see here-"_**  
"-I have won the game. Yesss, thank you for noticccing." Before Valentino two cards slid across the table, coming to a halt to stare up at the thoroughly shook overlord. Twin jokers. Twin jokers that were, as a matter of fact, not the ones he held in his hand. The room went dead quiet, the pimp included. 

  
"As _you_ can ssssee, I have won. Lady Luck hasss ssssmiled upon me quite fondly tonight. I do believe thisss callss for an honorary dab, don't you?" Angel couldn't believe his off-coloured eyes as he stared down at the cards, both on the table and in Valentino's hand. This... surely this hadn't happened, right? Angel didn't cast the faintest glance at the ebulliently dabbing snake, even in spite of the fact that every demon here had left the land of the living several lifetimes prior. No, his eyes were locked on Valentino, who was shivering with rage. The pimp opened his glistening fangs, then shut them, and grinned through the anger. Blood dribbled from pierced gums, trickling back down his throat to mix with whatever (or whomever) else he'd eaten that day.   
**_"I..."_ **The cards slowly rolled back to what they had first been. ** _"Congratulations are in order."_**  
Sir Pentious forced one too many over-enthusiastic dabs out, and felt something pop in his hips. He winced, clearly in some pain, but he did his best to take it in stride.   
"I am ssssso glad you sssee it that way." The smug little snake adjusted the collar of his blazer, pressing out his chest like the the pluckiest inventor in all Hell had just won the first place Science prize. "And I sssshould exssspect my prize....?"  
 ** _"Whenever you wish, buck."_** Those massive, murderous rippers crushed the cards in Valentino's hand, but went no further than that. Not even as Sir Pentious slithered right by him, leading the rather shocked Angel in tow. The paid-for porn-star looked back at Valentino, at his brother, and the rest of the quite shocked posse before the door slid shut behind the him, and from what the Hell had just happened. 

"Okay, but how?" Cars sped by the front of the club, high-beams blinding any cursed-soul unfortunate enough to stare directly into them. The various patrons of the equally varied clubs were now slowly starting to head home, through sin-fuelled smiles and heads swimming in booze. Beyond the skyline of nightmarish towers, the glow of morning began to creep up, promising with it another day spent quite literally in Hell. 'How' may very well have applied to the fact that Pentious was still breathing as of this moment, but Angel was willing to settle for just 'how' the snake had cheated Valentino. And he had cheated. But how?  
With his reacquired, retransformed, regal top-hat set comfortably upon those lovely, rich black locks (and grinding its teeth whilst staring down the traitorous spider) Sir Pentious brought a long, slender pipe up to his mouth. He flicked his fingers, setting the dried plant-matter alight, and took a long, refined puff. And here Angel was expecting the Juul to make a reappearance.   
"After the firssssst round," he began, expelling the smoke from his soft lips. "It wass clear that Valentino had taken to cheating, asss any good demon would. Death before defeat, asss they sssssay. Ass a sssscientissst firsssst and foremossst, I applied practical exxsamination to the problem and ssssolved it in record time."  
"And that was by...?" Angel prompted our prissy python Pentious along, but bit his misguided tongue when he noticed the answer was staring right back at him. Each, and every one of the gentleman's pink eyes along his body. His very long, flexible body. Maybe not as flexible as it had once been, but agile nonetheless.   
"Onccce hisss method wass exssposssed, all I had to do wasss continue counting which cardssss had yet to be played. Rather than a typical game of Hell-poker, it became a game of chanccce. A coin tossss, no lessss. Imagine that. I pressssume, given how little the garissssh pimp actually playsss the game earnessstly, Valentino wass not counting asss well." One of Hells many yellow, beat-up taxis pulled up before the pair, and the victor opened the door for his prize to step inside. 

  
"So... in other words, ya just cheated in a way that he couldn't cheat no more?"  
"Precissssely. Now, Missster Dussst, I believe thissss isss goodbye. I will have my minionssss essscort you from the premisssess of that... _wonderful esssstablishment_ by next morrow." With his hand softly gripping Angels delicate own, he leaned down and planted a dainty kiss upon the spider's hand. Angel felt like the prettiest boy in all Hell, not that he'd ever admit it. The rather flustered arachnid cast a cheeky kiss at his serpentine seducer from within his ride as the 'gilded chariot' of paint-chipped yellow pulled free, becoming one with the traffic. All the while our dear Sir Pentious waved the lovely Angel off.

  
And waved, and waved, and continued waving until Angel was out surely of sight. He then promptly keeled over, and vomitted into the gutter. 


	22. S1C8: Operator, Operator; it is IMPerative you strike this from the record.

  
"So I said 'It's blow-job, or no-job!'" The coffee sloshed in his 'Hell's Best Boss' mug as he raised it high, holding it aloft as if he were reaching for a toast. This socially-inapt imp's employees, however, were hardly impressed with his jest, his suit, or his presence.   
Loona, being the only one standing at the coffee station with him (and even that was by pure coincidence), groaned into her own coffee, before gargling and spitting the black mixture of lukewarm joe and cough syrup into what we can only presume to be Moxxie's tupperware-packed lunch left out on the counter.  
"Your stories suck, you know that right?"  
"Well actually-" He began, but by that point, Loona had already cut ties with the conversation.  
"Nobody cares, die in a fire, whatever whatever." She left before the suit-clad imp could finish his stalling sentence of likely subpar substance, abandoning him to another lonely morning coffee.   
Mug - Hands - Coffee pot - Cactus - Computer desk - Blitzo scanned across the room, hunting for new prey, before landing on Millie who was desperately trying to ease her borderline comatose husband out from whatever personal Hell he'd put himself into. Or, more accurately, that she had led him into with their boss firmly roped to the careening wagon of their love-life for good measure.

"Hey lovebirds." The taller imp slid onto the desk, presenting his long, slender legs to the couple. Only Millie noticed him, but even then she kept her attention focused on the sincerely shaken sweetheart who certainly should have stayed at home. Moxxie was still staring off into space, despite his wife's pleading attempts to free him of this mental prison. "I see you two came in today. I respect that. Shows you've got balls." Blitzo takes a long sip of his excessively creamy coffee.   
"I like balls in my employees. Makes them really... really..." He rolled his hand along, urging Millie to fill in the blank. She did not.  
"Sir, can ya do this another time? Moxxie is..." She cast a worried glance back at her still still husband. "...He's havin' a bit of a hard time."   
"Ahhh he's still sore from last night, right?" The white-haired imp leaned off his table-top and vomited up a splutter of glowing lava cum into a fireproof bucket, much to the disgust of his boss.  
"Gross. Well, that's what he gets for havin' such a cute butt, ey Moxxie? Babe? You know, you should have seen-"  
"Can you not, sir?" Millie jumped down her boss's throat, causing him to stutter along before coming to a halt. Realistically speaking, he should realise that this was his fault too. That he quite literally DID this. Who knows if Moxxie's poor, plush ass would ever be the same?   
But this was Blitzo, after all. Reasonability wasn't his strongest, nor preferred trait.  
"Oh fine!" he threw his arms up in the air, spilling half of his coffee over Moxxie's filing cabinet, then crawled up and over the office cubicle wall. "But just for the record? I'm leaving of my own volition! Oh yes!" He marched across the office, followed by the entire staff's stares.   
"Look at me go! I'm going. Going to my office." He opened the door, then timidly looked back. They were all watching him, waiting for him to finally give them some peace.   
"Going now!"  
They waited.  
"Look at me go!"  
They waited.   
"Ugh!" He slammed the door shut, drawing a sigh of relief from each and every one of his devoted 'Immediate Murder Professionals'. Millie resumed petting her husband's hair, between casting the occasional glance down at his round bubble butt and a tentative squeeze upon the rear.   
"Ya ass does look pretty choice though, Mox."  
"Millie, please!" Her husband pleaded, wiping away some of the glowing goop from his lips.   
"What? I'm just sayin'..." 

  
Once within, Blitzo slides down his door with a dreary murmur, lamenting upon his own failings. As the boss he should be held in the highest regards by his esteemed employees, right? After several minutes of moping about, he finally crawled over his rather plain desk, and onto that creaky, striped, spiked chair he called 'home'. He'd enjoyed its mangy comfort for so long that the shape of his ass was sculpted into the cushion.   
The highest regardings he demanded, but what exactly could he do? Cold calling was the job of his employees, so he wasn't about to degrade himself doing their work for them. Cleaning too. And file ordering, safety routines, fire drills, legal papers, document signing... He was an imp made for decisions and approving ridiculous money ventures, not practical work application, God damn it!  
Actually, if his family had anything to say about it, they'd probably very strongly suggest he was an imp made for juggling, tight rope walking, and wearing red, squeaky noses, but what did they know anyway?   
The bored boss brandished his black boots atop his imp-sized desk, lounging like an impudent child. "Loona!" He shouted, then waited a few moments for a reply. Nothing came.   
"Loon-!"   
"WHAT?" She barked, sticking her growling visage of grey in the door.   
"Oh Loona dear, what is on my agenda for today?"  
The wolf gave him a long, deep stare - rightfully so. Since he wasn't breaking that smug, self-righteous smile he so often spread across his smarmy face any time soon, she gave in and checked her phone.  
"So you have a lunchtime meeting with..."  
"Yes?"  
"...Yourself. And then you scheduled the afternoon to play golf in your office."  
Blitzo considered this notion, frowning intently.   
"Do... you want to play golf with me?"   
The door was slammed shut, leaving Blitzo once again (rightfully) all alone. Fine! It wasn't like he had to associate with the dregs anyway. He was just being polite.   
And besides, he could have plenty of fun playing... office mini golf... alone. Which, in all honesty, usually ended with him shouting at golf-ball battered pedestrians on the street that it was their fault for looking like the flags of the course. Or was golf played with those little hoops, like in croquet? There were many mysteries in the world, and few were more mind-numbingly boring to Blitzo than the fine workings of golf. He just liked to hit people, and spend money on useless things. Like golf-clubs.

  
The phone rang. 

  
In less than one dial, the line is picked up.   
"You've reached the Immediate Murder Professionals. This is Blitzo speaking, how can I help you today?"  
 _"Blitzy..."_  
"..."  
 _"Oh come now, darling. Don't you play coy with me. You know it just ruffles my feathers even more."_  
"...Hello Stolas." The voice is forced through grit teeth, which grind with agitation.   
"How can I help you, today?"  
 _"I just want to know how my favourite little imp is doing. Is that so weird?"_ There's the sound of pages being flicked through, hopefully of a novel and not some pornographic printed material. Then again, who is to say the bearer of the regal voice wasn't of the persuasion to enjoy a good, well-written piece of erotica?   
"It's very weird. It's never not been weird."  
 _"...And?"_  
"...And he's doing fine. Absolutely fantastic. I could not be any better than I am right now. In fact, you've called me at a bad time. I am very busy doing my uh... the..." Several drawers are opened and closed, before something heavy is pulled free and 'CLICK'ed right by the receiver.   
"Doing the taxes. Yep. Gotta pay those taxes. They're very important to... to the tax... people..."  
" _Blitzy, sweet-heart. This is Hell. Nobody really pays taxes unless they're stupid. And you're not stupid, are you?"_  
"Sometimes I wonder..."  
 _"Well, you're dating me."_  
"So that settles it. I am stupid."  
The caller laughs on the other end, muffling his cheer just to speak.  
 _"You're always so witty, Blitzy. I like that in a man. Among... mhngh... other things."_  
"..."  
 _"Do you know what my favourite bit about you is?"_  
"Is it my di-"  
 _"It's your dick."_

  
The phone is set down on a hard surface, and the more unwilling participant groans loudly. Is this seriously his life? What did he do to deserve this? Why was he here? Just to suffer?  
 _"Bliiiiiitzy.... Come back, I want to talk about your dick. It's a very nice cock too. You should be proud of it. Quite 'aesthetically pleasing'. I like how thick it is... mhngh... and the little ridges? Oh yesss... And those piercings are so lovely. I can practically feel them sliding up and down my walls... mmmngh..."_  
"Jesus fucking Christ."  
 _"I think that would be very difficult, don't you?"_  
"Are you seriously getting off on this? What the Hell is wrong with you?"  
"I _know - I've been a bad little birdie."_ There is a polite chuckle, then a long, drawn-out moan. _"And what about you? What is your favourite part of me?"_  
"I don't-"  
" _Is it my gorgeous princely puppies? They're quite nice and soft, aren't they? Mhmm... they feel soft too. Or is it my ass? Can you believe this gorgeous, perky thing is natural? Ah... and so tender as well! I bet it's my arse. Figures; your face fits so perfectly there too."_  
"...I'm hanging up."  
 _"I don't think so. You're going to listen to what I have to say, and you're going to be a good, obedient little imp and play along. Do you want to know why?"_  
"..."  
 _"... It's because you like this."_  
"So you've finally lost your mind."  
 _"Don't insult a Prince, Blitzo. You're cute, but you're not THAT cute. And besides, we both know I'm right. You like it when your face is squished between my cheeks, and all you can feel and taste and smell is my soft, dark hole. I suppose that's more my fault than yours, after all I'm the one who's always playing with it. Pulling on the... ngh... r-rim... pressing deep inside myself while thinking about your big, hard, rape-pit gaping fuckpole!"_  
Amidst the pleased growls of a thoroughly frustrated, practically steaming owl, there is a clear, and unmistakable whimper on the other end of the phone line. Something that its owner knows he can't deny escaped his quivering lips.   
_"You like that, don't you? Now it's your turn. Go on; don't be shy. What's your preferred bit? Better yet... ahh... what, in your ultimately worthless opinion, is the most choice feature of my hole? Is it the rim? It does fit your thick girth so perfectly, doesn't it? Or how deep your master's ass is? Come on Blitzy; I NEED to hear you say it."_

  
A pause lingers amidst the static of the phone line. Tension, passion, tightly kept pressed to his breasts finally loosed into the receiver.   
"...I..."  
 _"Yes?"_  
".... I really like your asshole."  
 _"More. Use your words. Tell me all about it."_  
"It's... Stolas, this is dumb."  
 _"It's only dumb if you keep wasting my time, Blitzy. Talk."_  
"Alright, I heard you! Christ. Okay so... So I like the way it winks."  
 _"Oh you dirty little thing_."  
"It's really warm and... hot.... and always so inviting, even when you make me take you dry. It's like it's... I don't know? Like it's kissing my dick as it pushes in?"  
The other participant's voice is getting heated, shaking, trembling with each word.   
_"I bet you love it when I make my slimy bird arse kiss your fat dick, don't you? Mnngh... next time you're in my grasp, I want you to jam it in. HARD. Nnnh... I want to feel my unlubed cocksleeve strain against your massive dick until I'm squealing like a Prom Queen being pressed down and gut-punched from the inside out by her tutor! D-Do you hear my, you cheap little whore? I want my guts to rearrange around your dick - just so I can fit a few more motherfucking inches! I won't be satisfied until my asshole is looser than my wife's cunt, you dirty fucking imp."_  
"Do... I-I don't..."  
 _"Tell me what you'd do to me. If I were there, in your office right now."_  
"What?!" A squeak of audible confusion escapes those cherry red lips before he manages to wrangle his sincere surprise. "How do you know I'm in my office?"  
 _"Shut up. Don't think about it. Just tell me what you'd do to me. I NEED this. I'm so close... And I know you're hard too. You have such the cutest little inflection in your voice when you're turned on."_  
"I... I'd bend you over, with my claws in your feathers."  
 _"Hm. Doesn't strike me as very likely. You're too short for that."_  
"I'd make you bend your head back for me, so that you're uncomfortable and I've got a firm grip. With your hips back and your chest pushed out, so you can feel my dick stretching your insides out. I want it buried so deep in your fat ass that I can feel the head straining against your stomach. A-ahng... th-then I'd call you a whore, and make you suck on my dick with your arsehole. Work your insides like a mouth - I don't care if you squirt lube on the floor, because I'd make you lick it up, and-and then I'd grind your face down into it with my boot! You'd like that, wouldn't you? You... Y-you fucking slut. Nghah!" 

  
Nobody talks for a solid minute. Blitzo's moment of sheer lust has culminated in his thick length gripped in both hands, and the phone receiver pressed between his ear and shoulder. He's panting, and shivering, and every Godless inch of that massive imp dick is buzzing with need. Hot, glowing precum dribbles between the ridges, rolling over his tiny fingers, and trickling down onto the floor beneath his chest, causing the cheap wood to smoulder and smoke.  
Oh God. He went too far. That was too much. He'd been caught up in the moment, and he had said something even Stolas didn't want. What the Hell was wrong with-!  
Someone knocks. The sound startles Blitzo, but the realisation as to what surface the knocking eminated from outshines the initial surprise tenfold. He turns... slowly... away from the door, and to the window. Just beyond the glass barrier looms a quaking, panting Prince of Hell, clutching his antique telephone so tightly in his claws that the ivory has begun to crack, and splinter. 

  
_"Open this window right now."_


	23. S2C12: The School of Simple Knocks

Dearessst Angel,

  
It isss my decree that thisss letter findsss you in good health. By the time you are reading thessse wordsss the mechanizssed carriage will already be at the doorsss of the Lucifer Essstate awaiting your presssencsse at your earliessst conveniencsse.   
It isss recommended that you pack all the necssesssitiesss of comfortable living, sssuch as your toiletriesss, perfumesss, mouchessss, rouge materialsss, fine lead paintsss, hair powder, coiffures and/or wigs if chosen, and appropriate gownsss.   
If novelsss are required, the 'limousssine' hasss a sssmall collection of thessse prepared, asss well an asssortment of brandiesss for the trip.   
  
Oncsse within the groundsss of the manor, my ssservantsss will be sssure to take care of your property and direct it to the sssecond guessst bedroom. Your formal educasssion will follow ssshortly after your arrival.  
Pleassse; enjoy the ride. 

  
Sssincsserely,   
Sssir Pentiousss of the Pentiousss Essstate.

* * *

When Pentious had mentioned 'education', Angel had expected something a little more... thrilling. He'd had plenty of encounters with 'education' in the past. "Twinky Spider Gets Schooled By Perverted Teacher", "HOT 18+ BOYSCOUT GETS RAILED BY TROUP LEADER", "'Spank me, Daddy! I've been NAUGHTY!'" were the first of many, many sordid memories that sprung to mind, all of which involved the fluffy porn-star being soaked in sticky fluids for his troubles.   
Truthfully speaking, he never really 'learned' anything in those 'lessons'. He was already a master of his trade, though the term 'mistress' carried the correct element of feminine grace he was so well known for. And he was very, very well known.   
But despite his proclivity for promiscuity, he had little experience elsewhere bar matters criminal and ... shall we say 'socially enrapturing'? Ergo, what Pentious brought to the table of his own accord was well beyond the spider's realm of familiarity.

  
"It wass cussssstom in the eighteen hundredsss for one to indulge in the common happeningsss of the eve. Fine ballsss, exquissite functionsss, and the odd jaunt into the world of croquet." The snake snickered, before continuing. "If one were sssso inclined." The satisfied serpent pulled his gold-rimmed teacup to his lips, and slowly sipped upon the dark, rich liquid. The study stank of whiskey and wine, musty old books and cigar smoke. Or was that vape e-liquid smoke?   
"Ah. Deliccciousssssss. In order to grasssp the intricate workingsss of a ssssocial outing, we mussst firssssst obsserve the inner-machinationsss of the Victorian hierarchy. I sssee the handsssome young man in the front hass a quesssstion, yesss?"   
  
Angel blew a long, slow, deliberate bubble with his smuggled strawberry gum, forming a large, semi-transparent pink orb before it popped - loudly. "Yeh, what the fuck is this?" Through black eyeliner he glared at his scaly host, who seemed completely unaware as to why this might be boring. And it was so very, very boring.   
"Thisss iss a lesssssson." Pentious prided himself upon punctuality and checked his cuffs for any wayward dust, before smiling back at his whorish counterpart. "What did you exssspect?"  
"Come off it! I already got it down pat with being 'Sociable', Mister La-di-da! I was expectin' somethin' hotter, like ah... fuckin', me tryin' ta pass grade with my mouth, or like... I dunno? A whip or two? Come on, Penty; babe I'm dyin' over here!"   
His host took another sip of his drink. Now he was just pissing Angel off. "I sssee no reasson to indulge in ssssuch crude teaching practicssesss." The spider groaned, rolling his head back across the couch's mahogany woodwork.  
"Look it's cute an' all yer doin' this, but ya gotta watch the box from my seat, ya diggin me?"  
The snake was not at all 'digging' him. What box? He felt a hot blush spread across his cheeks, slowly shifting his hips. Angel had better not be referring to _that_ box.   
Another long, protracted bubble was blown, before popping at its absolute limit, born of Angel's oral finesse. What - did you presume Angel's blowing skills were poorly? "I mean, I'm ain't talkin' cue cards and God-damn number blocks. I ain't that kinky." He thought the idea over. "At least not right now. But'cha gotta understand that this shit is boring!"   
"I haven't the faintessst-!"  
Angel struck a finger before his serpentine suitor, stopping him dead in his tracks. "Do I need'a spell it out? Ya think people wanna hear ya prattle on 'bout this shit?"  
"W-well-" Sir Pentious, precious as he was, nervously tapped his shiny pink nails against one another. He really was out of his depth. "I for one enjoy thessse mattersssss."

  
"Alright, babe." Angel decided that if lessons must be learned, then he must be the one to teach them. Think of it as a 'Community Service', which was more than applicable given how much of a menace the snake was - Territorial takeovers and inglamorous incongruity in equal parts.  
"Let's talk ball-park here. Ya can't be doin'... whatever this is. This." He gestured at all of Sir Pentious. What part of the snake wasn't either undeniably outdated to the point of vintage-hood? Or so forcibly modernized that it was entirely, undoubtedly, without any shred of misgivings on the phrase; Cringe.   
"My ssssuit?"  
"Uh-huh."  
"My ssssleek top-hat?"  
"Definitely not."  
"What about thisss fine vaping aparatussss?" The thin-striped-suit-wearing, slithering fop reached into his breast-pocket, producing a beautiful, custom-engraved... juul. That was a juul. There was no denying it, even with the various steam-powered gizmos and golden detailings spread across its surface.  
"Mind if I take a look?"   
Without a modicum of momentary awareness, Pentious produced the device with a flourish of his wrist, passing it to Angel who immediately threw it down the hall with a crash, and the sound of glass breaking.   
"Well I never! It ssseemss the gall of you 20th cssentury men iss quite the ssssight, for ssshame!"  
The spider fell back upon his couch, making sure to wiggle his firm arse down on the red velvet with a delighted cackle. "Ah come off it Penty! Ya gotta be more respectable, like me." He gripped his plush, fluffy tits and pushed them up in his blazer, threatening to burst the straining button so desperately trying to keep those plush puppies in.   
"Like you? I think not! I have ssssssomething you lack, Missster Dussst. Sssssssssstyle!" Quite content with his little jeer as he was, Pentious plucked his bow tie just to show off how stylish he was. 

"Although," The snake began, shifting his cup of tea and its respective, matching saucer across study's desk.  
"You do raisse a valid point, my bratty sssspider assssociate. It ssssemss a theoretical application of proper mannersss failsss to rousse your interessssts. Perhapsss sssssome practical theory iss therefore in order."


	24. S1C9: The IMPetuous Romps of IMPulsive Regals

  
The office was an utter bore. Mondays tended to be that way, even in the afterlife. Loona would never admit it, but without Blitzo being... well, Blitzo, the place could be so agonizingly boring when they weren't out fulfilling the more gorey end of their vocation. There's only so many times you can go through the cabinets, sorting the files, tending to the swarm of spam emails, and yet Millie always found an excuse to do so. Moxxie too, which was... cute. Like they were trying to find something to do. But really; why bother?  
Loona, on the other hand, was more than content to take her paycheck at the end of the week having done nothing, offered no constructive suggestions, and tended to absolutely no end of the job. Sure, she was the 'receptionist' in theory, but that implied she actually greeted people on the phone, rather than hanging up on them as soon as they called.   
Hey, a gal's gotta eat, and aloe-vera based lubricant wasn't cheap. So soothing, so cooling. Do with that information as you will.   
Her lupine ears perked up when she heard something moving in Blitzo's office, but chalked it up to him over-enthusiastically putting a golf-balls out the window, denting nearby parked cars. Fuck, it better not be her car. She still had to pay that rusted-out bomb off.

* * *

  
"Do it, you fucking bitch!" Stolas barked out, yanking on the smaller man's tie like a leash. Blitzo fell upon the Prince's ass, digging his claws and fangs immediately into the feathery slut. His royal highness let out a mewl of delight as hot, metallic blood flooded his toyboy's mouth, shivering in sick, twisted delight at it all. He could feel the bulge in dear Blitzy's leggings, throbbing, straining to be free of its bindings.   
"Ngh.... Come on!" He hissed, working down his own pants to show off his plush, defined ass.   
"Are you going to pound my Princely cunt raw or not with that fat, monstrous cock?" Blitzo was (unfortunately) acclimatizing quite smoothly to those vile terms his owl boyfriend dragged up from the slimy depths of his depraved mind.  
More than that; he was learning to like them.

  
With the grace of a pole-dancer, the feathered flirt slipped out of his pants and onto the desk, making sure his horny horned horn-dog was given ample opportunity to get it in. He didn't waste a second, and as soon as his massive, steaming cock was out, he pressed it up against the dark ring of muscle nestled between Stolas' cheeks. The bird trilled with delight, and like the most trained of whores? Relaxed his hole, letting the tip of Blitzo's imphood slide in for the bird's new favourite way to suck a dick.  
Fuck, he was really doing it! Blitzo looked down through the haze of lust and pleasure at Stolas' spread cheeks, digging his claws in even deeper as he watched that dark, juice bubbling hole quite literally pull in his cock. How the rim managed it he had no idea. Every inch of his swallowed-up cock was being milked by those pulsing, tightening and relaxing insides. It felt absolutely incredible, like hot, wet silk slithering up and down his dick. "O-oh Stolas, f-fuck, slow down! I'm going to cum already!"   
Unfortunately, Stolas took that as indication to do quite the opposite, tightly gripping Blitzo's wrists in his sharp talons as to prevent him from pulling out and deny the Prince the opportunity to apply his princely pucker in a more 'creative manner'. With him squatting on the table, working his firm ass up and down as his squeaking arsehole sucked the girthy prick dry, his own length uselessly twitched and bounced in front of him. Unnecessary for the particular avenue of pleasure he craved with every inch of his being. There was nothing sensible, proper, or appropriate about Stolas - and that was a fact.   
"If I'm not gargling your cum out of my arsehole in the next five seconds I'm going to drag you out of this office and fuck you raw in front of all your workers, you red little slut! Who owns your ass, you vile trollop?!"

* * *

  
Something glass hit the ground, shattering instantly. Something heavy, and solid was pushed across the floor, screeching out as it did so, promptly catching Millie's attention. She did a quick double-take, quite unsure that what she had heard she had, indeed, heard. The chipper impess jumped a little when something (or more accurately; someone) let out a whimpering hiss that bordered on a whistle.  
Loona was the second to notice this when her coffee mug filled with vodka and strawberry cough syrup began to wobble. Much to her surprise, she was not the one shaking the contents of her cup so violently. "What the fuck is..." She cast her bitter red glare at the door to Blitzo's office, then as realization crept upon her? She immediately downed her drink. Oh God; it was one of those days. 

* * *

  
Stolas fell into a bookshelf, sending an assortment of novelty bobbleheads flying before he himself fell upon the ground, knocking his beautiful, custom, gold-crown-bearing hat onto the floor and crushing it beneath him. His little lover was upon him before he had time to worry about the mark of royalty so casually broken, there to pepper the chirruping avian in over-eager smooches. Yearning to pull his darling closer, the leggy bird wrapped his arms about the smaller man and drew him in for a deep, sloppy kiss, with the taste of cum and desperation heavy upon their tongues jammed so deeply into their mouths that they couldn't help but gag. When Blitzo's claws dug into Stolas' sensitive rack, he kicked out instinctively, sending a lamp crashing into the nearby wall. 

* * *

  
The entire staff jumped when they heard yet another loud, disharmonious crash, before sharing nervous glances with eachother. They weren't... quite sure what they should do. Should they knock? Or ask if he's alright?   
"Jam it in my fucking arse! Oh fuck yes! Use your fist! Ahngggghhh! Fist my bitchpit! Punch my hole deeper!" Moxxie blanched in disgust, doing his best not to start puking into whatever container he could get his claws on first. His wife went to speak, likely some meager attempt to calm the interrupted workers, but a loud groan of furious passion cut in before her. The team watched in horror as a torso was pressed against the glass panel of Blitzo's door, and while the foggy window (thankfully) hid just who or what was being repeatedly smushed up against it, it was clear by the pair of feather, grey tits being flattened against the view-space that their boss was presently railing someone senseless. As if there was any doubt by now. "How'd they even get in there?" Moxxie whispered to Millie, who was blushing furiously, her sharp fangs digging into her lips.   
"Millie?" He tried again, then noticed her claws forcefully digging into the creaking wood of her desk. Loona wasn't much help either, instead she'd abandoned her cup for drinking straight out of the bottles. One gulp of vodka, one gulp of cough medicine. What the fuck was her liver?!  
  


* * *

  
The owl Prince hooked one of his legs up, making sure his gorgeous rear was on full view as Blitzo's sharp claws slid into the very gaped hole, sliding down the inky-black insides that strained against his arm. The most horrid, gurgling moan escaped his beak when he felt the very limits of his depths pressed against, with Blitzo so thoroughly pushed into him that the imp could feel the juices squirting around his upper-arm. Doubly so each time he rammed his fist deeper into that noisy, squelching hole, pounding that gaped hole senseless until Stolas could bear it no more. The royal demon lost his footing, knocking Blitzo back a few steps for him to crouch down and squirt out of his gaping fuckhole in the most depraved, hip rocking, tongue-out, eye-rollingly euphoric, raunchy manner possible. The bird only calmed down once his rear had stopped gape-squirting, leaving a puddle of clear lubricant on the floor and down the insides of his thighs. One would, naturally, presume he was spent. That was a lot of cum, and one very long, consistent orgasm he had just come off of.  
Before Blitzo could speak up, Stolas' head snapped a good 160' degrees, locking onto the imp with glowing red eyes. Oh fuck yes.  
  


* * *

"Sh...should we do something?" Moxxie stammered, looking nervously back and forth between the two wrecks of differing degrees. Loona had finished off the bottles, and had taken to stumbling about the office, rummaging through the fridge for something - literally anything - she could use to guarantee a black-out level of drunkenness as soon as Hellishly possible. Millie, on the other hand, was quivering. Shaking. Gently bucking her hips. How very unprofessional!  
At least she had good taste.  
  


* * *

  
  


Their boss was pushed back onto his chair, his clothes and office in complete disarray. His suit was unbuttoned, splattered with cindering cum, and pierced with feathers. Truth be told, there were feathers everywhere. On the ground, on the desk, in the undoubtedly stained cape, he'd been made to wear. His face and bare legs covered in glossy, faintly violet, black lipstick marks, and a thin sheen of glistening sweat. The office felt like a sauna, but despite this neither of them showed signs of slowing down.  
Especially not Stolas, who loomed over the knocked-over bookshelf, huffing and steaming with passion. His regal red vest was missing several buttons, and his tight grey leggings were nowhere to be seen. His throbbing, slim cock on the other hand... well, need I say more? The look plastered across his face was one of very, very clear form; Hunger.   
He leaped across the room, mounting over the cum-splattered desk with agile grace, crashing into Blitzo and knocking him (and his striped chair) over in a heated rush.

* * *

  
Another series of bangs and scrapes echoed across the office, and an assortment of stationary went flying - most notably of which was a pair of scissors which impaled themselves through the door, and the head of a Moxxie bobblehead which hit the door-window with such force that it cracked, carving a sharp line through the crossed out 'O' of Blitzo.   
Moxxie had had enough, and decided it was due time he gave the indecorous boss a piece of his mind. How he acted within the workplace was beyond the realm of permissible, and nowhere remotely near professional. His own slowly rising arousal at the whole matter was secondary to the matter at hand.   
But as soon as he'd rolled up his sleeves, a familiar hand stopped him. Millie had taken a firm grip of his arm, and he could feel the heat radiating from her grasp. She was panting, blushing furiously with her eyes wide open and locked on her shocked lover. No way was he ruining her fun. Far from it, because she immediately began dragging the man out of the building.   
"Hey, where are you two going?" Loona slurred, having taken residence upon one of the office sofas. Millie stared the wolf down with her middle finger firmly erected in one hand, and her squirming husband in the other. One would imagine that would pose a problem with opening the exit, but she made do with the heel of her boot and a forceful kick.

* * *

  
  


"N-Ngh! H-hey... s-slow down!" Blitzo hissed in a hushed tone, before nearly jumping out of his skin when someone knocked on the door. Prior to any indication that the office was available, Loona slid the door open with a visibly stumbling gait. "Hey uhh..." She drawled, looking over the room.   
It was a total write-off - furniture knocked over, glowing liquids cindering on the scraped-up walls, the ripped open seats, the shattered curios, and the dented filing cabinets. Nowhere was safe. Feathers were absolutely everywhere, sticking out of everything, and most of the windows were cracked or outright destroyed. The ceiling fan was missing several arms, and the heavy, nose-wrinklingly strong smell of sex was thick in the air.   
"So Millie and Moxxie just left... uhh..." She frowned at the floor, sloshing the stolen bottle of aged whiskey in hand as she wondered to just whom that crown belonged to. Looked pretty busted up, though. "Sick leave or something. I don't fucking care. I'm going too."  
Blitzo nodded, sitting completely upright in his chair. A lively blush was burned into his cheeks, and he was nervously tapping his claws on his messy desk.   
  
"Uh huh. That's... ah... totally fine. Thank you Loona." His most beloved employee remained there for a few moments, vacantly staring at the nervous long-horned freak. He tried smiling for her, forcing a big, toothy grin. Was that... a feather caught between his teeth?  
The wolf turned about, doing her best not to fall over her tail as she wobbled away from the still-open door, throwing a casual wave behind herself. "Yeah, see you tomorrow or... whatever."  
Her boss couldn't hold it for long, and as soon as Loona was out of his immediate vicinity he bucked forward, grinding his teeth together and shaking like a bitch in heat. "Fuck... fuck... fuck!" He yelped, feeling like his very soul was being dragged out of his body into some soft, slick, slimy, squelching Heaven of spit and drool. Several seconds later, Stolas pulled up from under the desk, gasping for air and wiping his lips. "Nghah!" He groaned, resting his sticky cheek against the dribbling, gorgeous cock hanging limply between Blitzo's legs. Their eyes met, and he let out a sigh of delight.   
  
"Got a smoke, handsome?"


	25. S2C13: Sinister Servings of Consensual Cruelty

  
There was a simple joy to be taken in the physical form of music. The dusty phonograph spun the vinyl, gently, waveringly. A crackle escaped the horn of the device, then slowly the sound of music began to fill the study. The snake felt the warm notes wash over him - familiar, and relaxing. The gentle organs began to rise, the slow plucking of piano keys, careful and precise.   
Camille Saint-Saëns – "Symphonie No.3 - Avec Orgue" - his most precious record. A relic of a bygone age that he would never willingly, truly, abandon. How the notes soared, and fell, swirling around the reptillian's mind, making the thin scales along his neck tingle with delight. This particular piece was played but a few years prior to his death, and to find it accessible within the realm of Hell was so very wonderful for dear Sir Pentious. Not that musicians went anywhere else, but the point remained. 

"When at a function of ssssome repute," the snake began, slithering around his student who shared nary a peep of defiance. "One mussst remember the sssstandardss of polite decorum. Ass my late tutor sssstated; 'There are three cusssstomary rulesss that musst be obssserved at all timesss at a ball, a jaunt, or otherwissse debaucherousss celebratssion. Without thessse we fail to adhere to the bassicsss of elegancce, and therefore do not desssserve to consssider oursselvesss of the modern bourgeoisssse.' A charming fellow, truly." The snake slid atop the polished wood floors and decorated rugs with ease, his hips swaying from side to side as he did so, and his eyes keeping a constant watch upon the spider and his web.   
"The firsssst rule isss to only assssssociate with thosse we consssider our equal, or greater, whilssst in the company of sssuch. The mattersss of interacting with peasssants, workersss, and vagabondssss is for those and their kin to do for ussss. If interaction is necccessssary, then it ssshould be done via letter or servantsss. Equal value, I ssupposse, really." he flicked a stray set of black locks from his shoulder with the end of his 'teaching aid', before flexing the strong, firm rod of ivory. "Hypothetically sssspeaking, what would one do in a ssssituation where they are parched, and in need of refresssshment at a party?"  
Pentious leaned down, his eyes glowing with malicious intent as he studied the spider for any shred of intellect.   
Angel's response, however, was a muffled garble, earning a sigh of disappointment from the snake. A quick, solid ' ** _THWACK_**!' sounded out, accompanied by a groan from Angel and a welt lingering upon his inner thigh.   
"Tsk, tsk! I do no believe that isss the correct ansssswer, my cocky fellow. In thessse ssssituationssss we must defer to the servantsss and the servantsss only, for to requesssst refressshments directly from the hossst would be to infer ssssaid graccsioussss perssson iss of lower classss. You ssssee? Not sssso sssimple, iss it?" Pentious felt the music rise once more, and he swiveled on the spot, dragging his many-eyed-tail across itself as he did so. 

  
"The sssssecond rule isss to 'retain one's dignity at all cosssstsss'. A troublessssome tassk when engaging in wicked fantassssiesss, of courssse, ssso we mussst appear gracccefull with every feat we embark upon. We musssst move with purposssse, and eassse. There isss no floundering to be found within the private bathing ssssprings, only polite banter and playful boutssss of jeering. When you approach the desssert table, you musssst....?" He prompted Angel along, who looked up at him with big, pleading, off-coloured eyes. The crop drew slowly up the spider's exposed neck, drifting off his lips spread around a large, unmistakable, glass orb decorated to look like one of Pentious' eyes, held in place to prevent any words escape him. But it did permit spit to bubble out around the rubber shape lodged in Angel's mouth, dribbling off his chin and falling upon the floor below. Dignity be damned.

  
' ** _THWACK_**!' The leather end hit the spider's red, raw rear tingling with stinging satisfaction. His very exposed, very sore rump, no less.  
"You mussst pluck the candied goodsss and chocolate delicaciesss with dexsssterity and precisssssion! And never upon a main coursssse platter - only a dessssert plate, or a ssssmall gilded ssssauccer if one cannot be located. We are not animalsss, now are we? Oh.... perhapssss one of uss issss... mhm...Perhapsss 'Le Carnaval desss animaux' would be more fitting for you." The crop returned again, but this time gently slipping up over the wets and bruises on Angel's thighs, drawing the beautiful man to squirm and writhe in place. The flat, leather end of the instrument drew along the tight, ruby red ropes that pressed into the porn-star's sensitive flesh, taking extra care not to press too firmly as it made its curious way up along the more sensitive regions of Angel's crotch before drifting along this precious spider's twitching length, and pulling off with a gentle flick, causing a trickle of precum to dribble onto the floor. Pentious had spent more than a few years in luxury, leather saddles, so was it any wonder he knew how to use a crop with agility and purpose? The goosebumps crawls across Angel's skin could certainly attest to that.  
The ropes creaked as Angel swung gently in place, though he still could not shake the sense that he was falling - even if he was held aloft and was very securely bound, the sensation remained. Growing stronger with every second, forcing adrenaline into his veins, into his heart, making every sense scream out for more, more, oh God did he need more. He would tear 'more' out of this snatch-waisted snake like the maddened creature the whore he was at heart.  
  
"A dirty, filthy animal in need of a firm hand. Utterly deplorable. I pity your family cresssst." Despite his harsh words, Pentious was having quite a bit of fun, and licked his own lips like the beast he so blindly suggested he was not. Around Angel he drifted, gently, slowly, eyeing off the suspended spider like a piece of meat. Dangling from the roof in red bindings, squirming, with all six of his arms tied behind him, and his legs bound together so that his smaller cock was on full display. Not an article of clothing remained. It was just him, his soft, fluffy body, and those harsh, tight ropes. Was it any wonder the two of them were tingling at the thrill of it all?  
The crop returned this time upon Angel's ass **_-"THWACK!"-_** further darkening his bruises and causing the spider's eyes to shoot open before melting into a dumb, half-lidded look of lustful ecstasy. Pentious reached in front of himself, his fingers pressing past his two Godless, worship-worthy, fang-bearing lengths and into his soft, over-lubed hole with a sigh of relief.   
"In my experienccce, good petsss are rewarded, aren't they?" Angel nodded vigorously, bucking his hips desperately. He didn't care how he'd get it - he just needed SOMETHING. He was so agonizingly close he'd take practically anyone, and anything, but the fact that it was Pentious and his gorgeous twin snake-cocks made it all the sweeter. 

  
Driven to such base measures, the porn-star's eyes welled with tears as he moaned into the buttplug so ingloriously jammed in his mouth. Angel could taste Pentious on it - and so help him God he would be drowning in that ass before the night was through.   
"There isss one lassssst rule that musssst not be abandoned. I will permit you ample opportunity to anssswer." Despite this, the cruel domme did not remove Angel's gag, and instead let his crop roam teasingly around Angel's body, before resting on the whore's plush breasts. His very exposed, sensitive breasts. He writhed in place - half in terror, half in intense need - but was unable to flee the impending agony.   
"Whilssst in the company of your fellow arissstocratsssss, it isss imperative that you maintain a ssssharp wit ssso to never appear a dullard. Graciousssnesssss, resssspect, politenesss - all sssso utterly droll compared to a sssssparkling, diamond-like mind. Few talentsss insssspire adoration and courtly presssstige like a cunning asss sssssharp and pointed ass any ssssssilver ssstiletto. Do you know why, my precioussss little pet?" The crop brushed so tortuously lightly across Angel's tits, tickling him faintly and making his skin tingle and ache for it. He needed it. 

  
"Well?" Pentious felt his whole body grow hot, his hands quaking. Grip tight upon the implement of educational reinforcement. Every inch of him tried desperately to tense up, to deny some of the pain that loomed over him like Pentious whole glorious, glittering body. But he forced it to relax, straining to keep his muscles loose as to relish in every wonderful, fantastic inch of the pain. Sweat slithered amidst his soft fur, leaving him feeling chilled and exposed. Anyone could be behind him now, looming at the door, behold the whore's pink rear so brazenly beared for their pleasure. Though he was certain there was nobody, the sensation did not leave him. Not the adrenaline, not the stinging, not the mind-numbing, euphoric desperation for what was coming. It all twisted into a boiling mess deep within Angel's chest, driving him mad. But despite all this, and in direct rebellion to Sir Pentious' impossible request; Angel didn't make a noise.   
Nor did he attempt to either. He maintained direct, hard eye contact with his willed abuser. He knew exactly what he was signing up for, and he _needed_ it  
Pentious wasted no time, drew the crop back, and brought it down across the spider's soft boobs with a hard, defined, echoing " ** _THWAAAAACCKKK_**!" forcing the air out of Angel as he came, hands-free, bucking in suspension as rope after rope of glittery, faintly pink cum spurted out of him. His tits stinging, red and sore from that forceful, quick motion.   
"It isss becaussse..." The snake pulled down to Angel's level, his own rich eyes locking with the beautiful blessing bound-and-bruised's own, and for but a moment the two were totally entwined with one another without touching. The only physical connection between them being the heat rising off Angel, and Pentious' breath rich with the smell of tea and sugar. 

  
"...We all crave pain in ssssome form or another, don't we dear?" 


	26. S1C10: An IMPregnated Couple

  
Moxxie let out a panicked squeak as his wife pressed him up against the grubby walls of the I.M.P Headquarter's main stairs, forcing her lips against his. The taste of espresso was still rich in her mouth as he gave in to her. Her tiny claws explored his familiar body, squeezing on his hips especially.  
"Fuck yer choice." She groaned, digging her hands a little too earnestly into Moxxie's bottom, causing him to squirm uncomfortably. "H-hey... I'm still sore, you know."  
"So?" Mere metres away, just a little further down the stairs, one of the many bustling city streets of Hell loomed outside. But for now, the two were all alone - excluding the occasional curious glance up the stairs that never lingered long enough to recognise exactly what was going on beyond that glass door-pane. "Yer enjoyin' it, ain't'cha babe?" Millie pressed up against her husband, making sure to get a good feel of his throbbing, small length. The smell of coffee still lingered on her breath, but now the smell of her perfume took centre stage as she leaned in and whispered into his ear. Smelled like... honey and cigarette smoke. Heavenly.  
"I bet'cha all bubbly inside with 'is cum, ain'tit?" Before he could even suggest otherwise, she'd taken a grip of his cock, slowly working the slim thing with deft expertise.   
"Mhngh... Y'know, as tempted as Ah am ta' snog yer arsehole, Ah'd rather watch ya squirt like a good pet." His hands shifted up and took a firm grip of his leggings to tug them down. He didn't resist - even when his pretty, frilly black panties came into view. Moxxie's poor little cock twitched, barely peaking out over the fabric, trickling glowing precum from such little pressure already. Absolutely adorable.  
"Shhh..." She hushed him when he started to whimper, likely from her claws slipping between his spread thighs, gently kneading the flesh as she worked under his balls and up into his poor, still faintly gaping hole. "M-Millie!" He hissed, looking nervously at the door. "People might see us-ngh!"  
She pushed into him, earning a trickle of Blitzo's cum which dribbled down her hand. It took every ounce of her being not to start sucking the hot spunk off her fingers immediately.   
"So? Let 'em see. Ah know ya like it that way... ngh... yer so loose." The impess tugged on the rim, earning a whine of desperation from her white-haired cutie and another bubble of glowing cum out of him. Just how much was in there, exactly?   
"Mngh... But... M-Millie..." He covered his face, too ashamed to admit how good it felt with her massaging his recently dicked rear. "S-slow down, at least! Or I...I'll..." She met his eyes with a twinkle of wickedness in her own, knowing full well what she was doing. Within those eyes cast in dark eyeliner and smokey shadow lay a heart that knew him all too well and knew him inside and out doubly so.   
"What's the matter, pet?" She rocked her crotch down against his thigh, trying to work out her own desperation whilst increasing her pace. Tugging and pulling on his hole, pressing up into the soft flesh and gently rubbing the faint bulge of his prostate much to his obvious delight. 

  
"Gonna squirt for Mommy?" Her teasing made him groan something along the lines of 'Please' out of him, so desperately struggling to hold his moans in beneath his quivering lips as he nodded eagerly.   
"Ngh... F-fuck... how much did he pump into ya?" A gush of glowing imp cum spluttered out noisily from Moxxie's arsehole, trickling down the wall behind him. His breathing was growing erratic, and it was clear by the constant ooze of cum escaping his arse that there was so much more in there. Millie knew he couldn't last much longer when he bucked his hips up instinctively, and his hole tightened and relaxed around her fingers. She also knew how ashamed of this he was - and it just made the hot trickle of arousal soaking her thighs all the more intense.   
Finally, Moxxie couldn't hold it any longer. He squealed out, smothered by his domme's black lips on his own as she spread her fingers and forced him to squirt. Hard.   
So much lava-like cum sprayed out of his arsehole in a scalding, gooey jet out between their thighs, soaking the floor behind Millie in his shame. The noise was well beyond the realm of graceful, or even remotely glamorous. Sloppy, wet, and very loud - of course it echoed through the office, but nobody would say anything about it. Somewhere in the stream of glowing cum he came, soggying his panties with his own pathetic little leak of cum.   
But still their boss's cum continued to splatter out, much to Millie's wide-eyed, grinning joy as she fucked his arse through the fountain of cum. After a solid minute it finally quietened down, weakly spurting out onto his leggings as he shivered and shook shamefully. A very large, sticky puddle of magma cum had soaked the landing they had claimed as their own, and was creeping down the stairs.   
Ultimately, it was Blitzo's fault. And him pounding whomsoever it was in his office was an adequate cover for her husband's sticky explosion of imp cum. The smell of which was... nauseatingly arousing. The perfect mixture of his plush little boy-butt and imp cum which, in her experience, was something like a good fireplace on a winter afternoon. Soaked in gasoline.   
"Dick. Now." She demanded, reaching between her legs and sliding out of her pants in one swift motion. There was no recovering them now as they began to smoulder and catch alight in Blitzo's cum puddle, but she didn't care. She had to have this, regardless of her husband's panicked pleas.

  
"W-wait! Millie! I-W-We need a condom f-first!" He squawked, but she had already shifted her panties over and slid down him to -right to the base - with a satisfied groan that caught the attention of a demon passing on the street below. "Fuck that! I ain't stoppin'." She pulled up to his tip, and slid right back down with a slap of juices hitting his crotch, earning a squeak of pleasure out of him. Her black lips coiled into another fanged smile as she rolled her hips, working her cunt along his small cock. "What'sa matter, babe? Afraid ya won't be the only one knocked up this week? Come ahn!" The black-haired woman wrapped her arms around his head, pulling his face into her plush tits as she bounced on him in a fit of maddened lust.  
"Ah want ya imps! Fuck yer hot!" She shrieked as his cock ground along her most sensitive spot, drawing a squirt of impess juices to sully his poor, ruined waistcoat some more. "Do it!" She barked, riding him into the wall. Her plump ass jiggling with every bounce, heart-pounding until he tensed up and moaned into her tits - a hot, satisfying sensation filled her, and a trickle of imp cum escaped around the base of his less-than-girthy dick.   
  
The two remained there - Millie gripping tightly onto the railing and Moxxie doing his best to hold onto her before she began to climb off. But there was no look of shame or regret on her face. Instead she was the picture of peak arousal - quivering on her little imp feet, doing her best not to slip in all the glowing cum beneath them. Doing her best not to moan out as she forced her mouth back onto his, relishing in how obediently he opened up for her tongue to jam back into his mouth, lapping at his like a bitch in heat. When they broke the kiss several strands of spit dangled between them, and the glossy shine of her lipstick caught the red glow of the outside world. It was almost romantic. Almost.  
"When we get home," Millie made sure to lick her lips slowly first, dragging his gaze across each of the spit-soaked surfaces after her slick tongue. "Ah'm gonna take that cum-soaked' cock outta the box, and pound ya ass until every last drop'a Blitz' cum is soakin' the floor. An I ain't stoppin' til dinner, got that pet?"  
The pet nodded, tightening his claws around the railing as she spun about, and put her arrow-headed tail to use. With more than a marriage's worth of experience, she slid her panties down and spread those plush cheeks to show off her twitching, dark hole which was pressed down on the tip of Moxxie's hard, cum dribbling cock.   
"But first... Momma needs both her holes stuffed silly."


	27. S2C14: Suddenly; Sincerity! So Previously Disposed!

  
Stings. Angel nursed his bruises, keeping a close eye upon his host who had taken to tying the ropes up gently, carefully winding the harsh cord around itself again and again with deft expertise. Each band of red wound together until the whole thing was a beautiful, neat knot. He seemed almost... cheerful, even if he was putting away tools so freshly used to administer quite a satisfying amount of pain to the masochistic mister who was presently checking himself over for just how thoroughly whipped he had been. The striped snake's surely sizable hips swayed to and fro to the gentle hum of organs drifting free of the dated vinyl. Clearly, he was enjoying himself.  
"Ya coulda been rougher, ya know?" Angel mused, now inspecting the satisfying marks left on his tits. Pentious had got him square across both of them, and it still hurt to touch them. Such a skilled stroke of sadism it surely was.   
"I am well aware." Sir Pentious piped back, still organising the various clamps necessary for holding Angel up into their respective placements and boxes.   
"I mean, I ain't complainin'. Ya're pretty rough when ya wanna be, ain'tcha?"  
"I sssssuppose." Ugh. It was like talking to a brick wall with him sometimes.

"So ya've done that before, right?" Angel's question stalled the slithering serpent - clearly hitting some mark or another.  
"Once." The cobra admitted, still yet to face his companion whilst setting the lid down on the box and tucking it into the shelf amidst the various dated tomes he had collected whilst within Hell's wicked domain.  
"Not here, of coursssse. Back above thissss wretched Hadesss a very good while passsst..." He sighed, pink eyes glistening with distant memories. Having departed the shelf, he let out another sigh, distinctly less nostalgic in nature. His Earl Grey had long gone cold, and it was sure to be some time before afternoon tea. Truly a fate worse than death, not to mention that it would be uncouth to indulge in cold tea. Sliding a sugar cube between his smooth lips was another matter altogether.   
"Hah. I can picture it now; all ruddy-duddy with ya Viccy pals, right? But now that yer a snake ya...So, what... ya haven't... Wait." Angel may have been a little slow (in general) but even he wasn't blind to the obvious. Realization wrapped its wicked claws into his soul, making his mismatched eyes light up with pride.   
"Was I ya first down here?" The scowl that spread across Pentious face was the only answer Angel needed. "Holy shit, I had no idea yer so pent-up, Penty! Prissy bitch ain't had 'is dick wet in forever! That's like... hundred an'... somethin' years, right?"  
"Well...." Sir Pentious shifted into his high-backed seat, painfully aware of his plugged hole and how well Angel knew of its existence. "Yessss.... I ssssuppossse... It doessn't-"  
"That's adorable! Aces, so I've been poppin' a snake's cherry this whole time?"  
What was a scowl had blossomed into a wicked blush, shredding the stripe-suited serpent's poise in seconds. "You needn't sssssay it like that!" He hissed, hair flaring up in defense.   
"Yeah yeah, whatever you 'ssssay' toots." The spider could, and most certainly would, be recording that to memory for later. Not that he was going to blackmail Pentious any time soon, but it always helped to have something up his sleeves.   
Speaking of sleeves...rats! He checked his blazer lining, his bag, and his pockets, but it seemed he was high and dry when it came to the joys of nicotine. He then groaned, recalling that, in an absence of good sense, he had not bought a new packet in days.  
Shit. 

  
"So like... indulge me, right?" His cobra beau lifted one of his sharp eyebrows. This would be interesting.   
"Say it's like... 1800 hundred an' whatever."  
"1888."  
"Yeah, an' like... I wanted a smoke. What would I be smokin'? Don't tell me ya cats were all smokin' oregano or somethin',"   
The snake always enjoyed talking about the 'good old days', as biased and subjective as that was from someone as well-off as he. "I do not believe we ever ssssmoked oregano. Perhapsss the ssservantsss might have, but then I'm ssssure their ilk were too bussssy inbreeding to do anything of note. While tobacco and itsss corresssspondentss were of the up-and-up, the ingessstion of opium-"  
" _Opium_?"  
"Opium-"  
"Yer pullin' my legsss, right?"  
"Er.... no, I do not believe I am pulling any 'legsss'. Opium wasss very popular. Excluding itssss more sssocio-economic applicationssss for rectifying injussst trade embargosss, it was exccceptionally usssseful for relaxing after a troubling day of looking at the unwasssshed massssess. Would you care for a sssspot?"   
Angel could not believe his fuzzy ears, though he was doing his absolute best to accept it. The serpent must indulge in some extensive mental gymnastics to somehow condemn public lewdery while endorsing the use of God-damn opium. Admittedly it wasn't that far from heroin - his old man's preferred drug of choice - but he'd take what he could get. ESPECIALLY if it was free. He nodded eagerly, watching as the snake slithered up and off his chair to sort through the contents of the lounge-side table with his plump rump rather ingloriously up in the air. It was mesmerising how his black scales shimmered in the light, revealing a sickly yellow sheen hidden just beneath the surface. And, of course, the sheer girth of his ass.

"Ya know," Angel began, licking the lingering taste of Pentious off his lips whilst he eyed him off. Sure, there weren't cheeks, and he wouldn't be permitted that glorious SPREAD he so adored (often before smushing his face in like the greedy whore he was) any time soon, but the general form remained and demanded his full attention. "Ya've got a nice arse, Penty. Ever consider a maid outfit or somethin' fetchin'?"   
Apparently something about Angel's query was entertaining, for the snake broke out into a wicked set of giggles. "Me? In a maid outfit? Prepossssteroussss! Do not be daft!" His laughter slowly melted down into a polite chuckle, broken up with the occasional hiss. Angel didn't really see what was so funny - if he had even a little money to his name he'd put it towards seeing those wide hips fit within a short, frilly dress.   
Actually, come to think of it? He'd pay to see a large portion of his past partners wearing something revealing and scandalous just for him to drool all over them. But not all of them, of course. He couldn't deny the larger, girthier ones looked best soaked in oil and blood, completely naked, with their powerful muscles on full display...   
Where oh where was his mind at? One could suppose, given Angel's promiscuous predisposition, his mind was squarely located within the soggiest, slimiest depths of the proverbial gutter.   
And given he still hadn't had a taste of Pentious' lengths today... well, it was a safe bet to presume it would not be leaving said locale any time soon, despite how recently he'd came. Not that the remains of his orgasm had lingered on the floor for long - Pentious had his servants tend to that within moments. What a fussy-fangs.  
"Now, thisssss...." Back to the realm of the present, the material, and the very immediately real. The snake opened the box, revealing a gorgeous silver pipe engraved and delicately detailed. It was a little old-fashioned to say the least. Doubly so for the stained, ancient looking bottle of black tar the serpent had began to slowly empty into his pipe.   
"Issss a cussstomized pipe of my very own invention. Pleassse, pleassse; there iss no need to clap." Nobody was clapping. "Gone are the dayssss of relying upon an opium lamp to sssslowly heat the subsstance, nor the necesssssity of mixing it with other productsss to asssssissst in the vaporisssation of ssssaid opiodsssss." He flicked a small switch on the pipe, and the bowl began to bubble and steam. The raw, thick smell of poppy flooded the room within moments.   
Angel may have had no idea as to what the hell Pentious was going on about, but he knew one thing for certain; he liked his drugs quick, and fast. Powders worked best, but a pipe that heats itself? That's pretty handy alright. No matches needed here. Though it did remind him of something else that vaporizes an oil-based substance - what a shame he couldn't place his sharp little fingers on it. 

  
"Go on." The snake handed him the inebriating instrument, ever the gracious host permitting his guest the first hit. Then again, it's not like they were going to Hell for smoking this.   
Angel slid his mouth over the end and took a long, deep inhale, held it, and then exhaled into a brief coughing fit whilst handing the pipe back. The taste was very bitter, and it made his throat burn, but the soothing sensation of opium hit him within seconds.   
"F-fuck that's the good stuff, doc." He sighed, feeling a wash of ease soak into his body. The snake was right; it was great for relaxing. Sir Pentious brushed his long black hair away from the hot end of the silver apparatus, and followed suit. He didn't want to look like a square, after all. The vapors drifted free of his mouth with ease, coiling with Angels own above the pair as they sunk into their seats.   
"Y'do that much in Hell?" Angel prompted, checking that his hands weren't shaking, and making sure he hadn't stained his outfit with the black muck. Truthfully, he wasn't sure why the cobra had him redress, but he wasn't complaining; he'd be tearing his clothes back off later tonight anyway. This time with Pentious all bound up, hopefully.   
"N- * _COUGH_ * N-no, I cannot ssay I do. But it issss nicce to indulge, yesss?" He passed the pipe back to Angel, who took a chance to consider just where he was setting his lips. There was no doubt about it - he could taste the snake's venom on the pipe as he inhaled, relishing in the flavour. Strangely enough, it fit the taste of opium nicely. It reminded him of something sweet and bitter like the smell of gasoline burning, or raw lemon cordial syrup.   
"So am I some special case or somethin'?"   
"That would imply you are anything other than sssspecial."  
"Oh yeah? Well yer... I..." Angel very nearly took that the wrong way, his grip tight on the pipe before it dawned on him that Pentious was, indeed, flirting with him. That was sweet.  
"....Thanks." He sunk back into his chair, puffing on the pipe.   
  
"Do your admirerssss not offer you due praisse?" Sir Pentious decided to take a more casual position, pulling his lower half up and over the edge of his chair, lounging with his pink claws absent-mindedly petting his sleepy tophat.   
"They do but it's... y'know how it is. They're all 'creepy fan-letters' this, 'gonna hogtie you and plough that boybutt' that."   
"How crude."  
"Exactly, right?! Don't get me wrong; I'm all for someone tellin' me they're gonna fuck me so hard I'll be busted up leftways to Sunday."  
"Language, dear."  
"Thanks." Angel frowned. Had Pentious just called him 'dear'? Come to think of it, that wasn't the first time today either. The snake was too occupied blowing a jet of smoke from between his sharp fangs to notice his slip-up. What a sap. "But some pacin' works wonders. I wanna want it first, right? Not that I'm too picky, mind ya. Er, but yer a special case, 'course."   
"I fully underssstand your predicament. I recall, if you will permit ssssuch memoriesss presssencce, a ccccertain Countesssss who left no illussssionsss ass to how and what ssshe desssired to do with my perssson."  
"And?" This caught Pentious off guard. A sharp rapier blow to his often stalwart wit. "A-and what?"  
"And.... so what'd she want? Come on, ya can't just start a story like that an' not tell me the gorey details. What'd she want to do to ya? Peg ya silly? Wrap yer ass up in silk an' call ya her bitch?"  
The snake coughed up a cloud of the dizzying substance, straining for fresh air as he racked his brains for an excuse not to indulge Angel's curioisty. Unfortunately, thanks to the relaxing habits of opium, he decided it best to just surrender to the perverted inquisition, lest worse matters be dragged out of the gooey past hand-in-hand with the tar-like opium intoxication.

  
"If it musssst be known," he began, after expelling the last of the smoke from his lungs and holding the device aloft for the ever-greedy harlot to take ahold of. "The Countessss in quessstion had a lussst for wax, and all that would accompany ssssuch a venture."   
"Huh. I mean, it's bad luck to talk 'bout ya exes an' all that, but this one fella I knew... He REALLY liked candles too. Had a thing for gettin' all slimy in hot wax. Can't blame him, though. It's pretty hot."  
The snake caught himself staring into the Angel's lips, watching the smoke float free and the glint of a golden fang hidden deep beneath them. Surely a mouth as beautiful as that had not uttered... a pun? "I presssssume it would be, all thingsss considered. Ssssuch ventures would be rather... _fiery_."  
Oh. Oh no. Angel couldn't resist - he did his best, he really did. But there was no stopping it. He couldn't avoid it. The seasons will change, the sinners will arrive in Hell, and a pun must be indulged in. It was as stone-carved a law as time itself. It really was out of his hands.  
"Oh yes. It was so S- _candle_ -ous."  
"Ccccertainly a _match_ made in Heaven, no doubt."  
"I searched _fire_ and wide for one as _tinder_ as he."  
"I am ssssure your heart would have plum- _melt-_ ed without hisss presssense in your life."  
"But it was due to _go up in smoke_ eventually."  
"Of coursssse. Few can hold a _light_ to your radiant _glow_."

  
Angel groaned into his hands, though beneath them lay a grin quite sincere. What rock had this outdated fop slithered out from under? He was strangely alluring, and more than a little precious. Sir Precious. Perhaps it was the opium, the fact that he was positively buzzing with sexual energy, or the sheer luxury of where exactly this cheap spider was staying, but Angel couldn't help but feel something flutter deep beneath his breasts when he stared dumbly at Sir Pentious. Something about him was really nice. An easy target? Absolutely. But for the time being it felt good to just indulge in a little innocent attraction. It wasn't like his feelings were anything other than shallow. That would imply he had a heart to give away, and to presume such would be absurd.   
  
"Come on. Pass it back. I'm losin' the buzz." The pale floozy growled, reaching out to yank the pipe right out of Pentious' claws and desperately drew upon it, desiring to be rid of these unwanted feelings.   
"Do remember that moderation isss of the utmossst importancce." His words meant nothing to Angel. He was already dead, and saw no reason to slow down in the face of any excess. The guest continued to puff away until all he could taste was hot metal, and all the black sludge had been turned to nothing but ashes. He held the device up for the snake - showing off just how empty the bowl was.   
"See?" He grinned dumbly, spreading his lips to reveal all those sharp, pink-venom-dribbling fangs for Pentious. Strands of spit dangling between his open lips, casting a sharp contrast with his dark, rich-red mouth and his black-stained tongue.  
"All gone. Am I a good boy? ...Ah....'n I'm...Oooh..." Angel's attempt to be free of his couch earned him a stumble which conveniently landed his face into the snake's lap. Hey, he wasn't complaining. The spider was already planting hot, wet kisses on the writhing serpent's scales within seconds, until soon enough being pried free.   
"G-goodnesssss! Misssster Dussst, do c-control yoursssself!" Pentious couldn't believe how shockingly light Angel felt, which was unusual given just how powerful and lithe he was.   
"Aww... But... Don'tcha wanna fuck?" In all absolute honesty, the snake could feel his crotch grow hot at the idea. It would be so very easy to push Angel down and press into him, to feel those soft, slick insides...  
  
"I think it would be besssst if you take a brief resssspite of thessse mattersss, don't you?"   
Angel mimicried along to the snake, clearly not taking what he had to say seriously, but he wasn't in much of a position to combat it - verbally or otherwise. Like a pouting teenager, he'd taken to crossing his arms and avoiding the cautious reptile's pink gaze, not daring to look into those angular, penetrating eyes head on. In such careful claws, he was gently lowered onto the couch, which was so very soft, and felt so nice on the brat's body.   
"S'nice..." He murmured, earning a warm smile from Pentious.  
"Of coursssse. Only the very besssst." Those words meant too much to Angel, and he had to permit the briefest of glances up into his eyes. Into those rich, gorgeous, glistening eyes lined with perfectly tipped eyeliner. The way the hot pink bled into the almost fairy-floss edges of his lit sclera, and how those sharp slits spread wide and heavy upon Angel.... 

"....You look ssssso beautiful." He couldn't look away now, even though he was perched so awkwardly over the resting spider. It was strangely relaxing here, with his drugged lover's hot breath rising up to tickle his exposed, vulnerable neck. Angel really was just that; beautiful. Every inch of him was so entrancing. So firm, so defined, and yet so delicate. Like a rose with thorns coiling out between the petals, threatening to prick curious fingers daring to pick the flower to pieces. The way he shifted his hips first before every movement; like a graceful dancer! His thighs moving ahead, straightening out into the most beautiful set of legs which had ever had the pleasure of stretching beyond the edge of one of Pentious' couches, bound in such rich, black high boots.   
He made Pentious feel so lacklustre and gauche despite how very elegant his slithering body of glossy black could be. Angel may have been (or, more accurately? Was absolutely) rough around the edges, but in a way that held an air of elegance to it. A demon wrought in his own world of silk and sin in equal measures.  
The smell of booze and sex lingering on his skin, the way his breath forever carried the distinct aftertaste of tobacco, his lips so... impossibly soft and irresistibly alluring. Quivering, dribbling pink, bioluminescent poison that matched Pentious' own wicked concoction of glowing neon venom. Poison that made their lips tingle, trickling over their mouthes as the snake drew closer and closer. So cautious it hurt.

  
"May I..." He struggled to find the right words, blushing but not daring to break away from the off-coloured eyes of ebony and ivory staring back up at him from below, surrounded in stray locks of rich black cascading down off this hissing suitor.   
"May I kisssss you?" He finally whispered, edging closer and closer to Angel. The mesmerised arachnid nodded, leaning up to meet his lips mid way. They embraced - finally - setting fire to Pentious' heart in a flutter of passion. The hot, sticky sensation of poison dribbled free of their mouths. Raging fire boiled within their chests, and their minds span around and around as hot spit and writhing tongues met. Several of Angel's hands found themselves clutching onto the snake's body, wrapping themselves in his lustrous hair, desperate to taste more and more of him. 

  
And for but a few moments their hearts belonged solely and exclusively to one another, and no-one else.


	28. S1C11: An IMPending Arrangement

  
"So," Prince Stolas, Royal Demon of Time, Master of Twenty-Six Demon legions, began with a croaky voice the likes of which can only be acquired from gagging down an un-Godly amount of cock minutes prior. "I was thinking. There's this little shindig..."  
"Hard pass." Stolas' short sweetheart had his mangled coat draped over him like a blanket and was more inclined to smoke his cheap cigarettes than to look at the regal owl. Was it strange that Stolas just found this aloof attitude all the more alluring? Likely a product of the mismatched bitch pouting like his own daughter, no doubt brooding about whatever it is their kind thinks about. Stolas was no grubby little imp, now would he deign to imagine what goes on within their little heads any time soon. He was so far above that.  
"I think you might like it. You see, there's this lovely Count... or was he a Baron?" Blitzo groaned into his lit fag, rolling away from Stolas. Why hadn't he left the damn imp alone to his sulking yet? Hadn't he done enough? The thought of catching that slim, feathered ass in his vision anytime soon - or ever again - made him want to throw up.  
Blitzo's goodwill wasn't the only thing utterly destroyed within the raging maelstrom of their most recent explosion of lust and passion. Feathers were everywhere, the walls were scraped to all Hell, and only one single window was left undamaged from the violent romp.  
"Oh but Blitzy! He has the most wonderful roasted pheasants, a steady supply of supple rats, as well as a cellar practically overflowing in aged brandy. I know you like brandy." Blitzo didn't even acknowledge him, but then, it was hard to argue against something that's spent the past few thousand years in a closet. And the brandy sounded good too, he supposed. "I'm a little jealous, honestly. And you know what happens when I get jealous, don't you Blitzy?"  
The miscoloured imp felt his soul leaving him. Not this shit again.   
"I don't know Stolas!" He forced the cheery tone through his fangs, seething with a bitter loathing that made him want to be sick. "What happens when you get jealous?"   
"When I get jealous, I get mopey." With a wicked smile crawling over the grey owls pallid face he slid off the desk he had so recently taken roost upon, sidling up to Blitzo and his claw-shredded couch. "When I get mopey, I want to fix that and feel good again. It's only natural, after all." 

  
The imp was not having a lick of this, but unfortunately for him, Stolas was here to force it down his throat regardless. He took Blitzo's jaw in his sharp talons, forcing his gaze to meet the rich prick's wide-eyed, quivering look of sheer shivering passion. Such huge, intense eyes! Glowing, shining, blinding in their heavy red tone! Blitzo wanted to look away, but he couldn't. He was trapped here. Trapped beneath Stolas' touch.  
"When I want to feel good, I want to-"

"So it's a party?" Angel wheezed out, his arms stretched wide as the distinctly elliptical servants did their absolute best to fit all the 'necessary' frills and dress-linings onto Angel's half-completed get-up. He felt absolutely ridiculous, but he couldn't deny how fancy he felt. Like the prettiest gal at prom - which, come to think of it? Wouldn't be the first time he'd been just that.   
The silk lining, the rich fade of black to rose pink, the pretty pink bows the smartly-dressed eggs were so carefully tying up on his skirt; all so very upper-class. Too upper-class for Angel, in fact. It felt wrong, but it wasn't like he could crawl back into his usual get-up. That was presently being scrubbed clean. Then again, he wasn't above walking around - tits out, ass out, dicks out. That would be a Hell of a conversation starter.  
Pentious had quite the collection of these frilly, gorgeous things, so finding one of fitting 'aesthetic' for Angel wasn't the hardest thing in the world. Getting him out of bed, however, had come close. With a splitting migraine and a decidedly foul mood burrowed deep into his pretty head, it had required a full pot of Turkish coffee, an assortment of buttered hot-cross buns, a collection of scones and a side of fried prosciutto before he was willing to embrace the day before noon. Prosciutto wasn't the same as bacon, right? Right?   
Besides, the promiscuous spider was hardly a snooty bitch accustomed to a life of luxury and fresh, glazed croissants (or at least not as nose-upturning-ly inclined as Sir Pentious). Angel simply didn't like the idea of being up so painfully early. He could still taste the night prior - and, honestly? He already wished it was so again.  
Pentious had taken his place just beyond the door of the dressing suite, flicking through one of his many hardback novels. Had the slithering son of a bitch never heard of an audiobook? But then, who had time for those, really? Angel certainly didn't.  
"Sssssomewhat. A ssssspot of evening tea with a lovely acquaintance of mine. It isss imperative one keepss their sssstanding with fellow kingly sssssorts, naturally. Not that Hell hass much of a monarchy thesse daysss. Oh thosse were sssssssimpler timesss! Gone are the dayssss of a public flogging for the unclean masssesssss to ssssslather over... Ahh...." The snake snuck a cheeky peek into the dresser, eyeing down his Angel who had the pleasure of presently standing upright for far too long - the ache of which was getting to him. With all his arms straight out, the eggs (on their teetering ladders) pulled tightly upon the various laces needed to tighten all those beautiful pieces into place, and promptly forced a grunt out of Angel. 

  
"So it's a party?"  
"Well, actuall it'ssss a-"  
The spider hissed when one of the eggs tightened the highest lace of his exceptionally high thigh-high boots a little too tightly, warranting a sheepish apology from the little servant.   
"An' I'm s'posed to... what? Look pretty for ya buds?" A single black, deep eye shot out from between Angel's long, flowing wig - perfectly brushed and maintained - meeting Sir Pentious' smug smile dead on. Neither of them faltered.   
"You are 'sssssuppossssed' to have fun, Angel. Enjoy sssssome ssssscones, maybe a sssslice or two of cake? I believe it issss... Ssssservantsss! What issss today'ssss dessssssert?"  
One of the hard-shelled sycophants tried to respond but had accidentally swallowed a needle he was previously using to stitch the finishing bows onto Angel's dress seams, painting a rather humorous (if agonized) expression across his shell-face. Another filled in the blanks for his now injured workmate. 

  
"Eclairs, Red Velvet, and Milleh... M-Mill..." The eggs shared a few nervous glances, well aware of how scrutinous Sir Pentious' could be with proper grammar.   
One of the more courageous dared to test the waters. "M-Mille-Feuilles, Mister Boss Man." The three of them breathed a sigh of relief when the snake didn't throw a backhand their way for their insolence, and continued upon Angel's dress with added gusto.   
"You sssssee? Who doess not enjoy a lovely 'Millefeuille au fruitsss rougesss'?"   
"Ah-whu?" Angel drawled, quite indifferent towards the plight of the humpy-dumpty dependants, whilst straightening up for their tight grips to pull his corset into place lace-by-lace.   
"It will be mosssst lovely, you'll sssssee! Ah, are you done yet, number thirty-two?" The regal reptile stole another quick glance, this time lingering just a little too long on Angel's cloth-covered rear still so distinctly round beneath the fabric. While he had refused the crinoline, this was not to any disadvantage; Angel knew how to press his rear out, especially when he knew someone was looking at it.   
"Yup!" One of the eggs (presumably the new thirty-two, given the egg actually bearing those numbers was desperately trying to pluck several swallowed pins free of his yolk) spoke up. "All done, Mister Boss-man!"   
Sir Pentious was finally permitted access to the dresser (barred by his own outdated sense of chivalry, and nothing else to bear a full view of Angel in all his silk, frilled, ribbon-covered beauty. The sort of beauty only one who has devoted years to its study can bear, and few came close to Angel in such regards. With such rich, gorgeous pink eye-shadow, glittering red lipstick and perfect application of blush, poor Pentious was forced to wonder why he hadn't indulged in such charming features of a recent? Here he was lacking any and all of Angel's sheer beauty! For shame! Surely there was still time before the meeting, right? Surely there was time for the snake to pick his mouth off the floor too.  
"So what time are we doin' this today? These tits ain't stayin' trapped in this corset til dawn." Comfort or the attendance of needs, either way, he was getting out of this dress as soon as he could.

Blitzo felt the colour from his face drain to that of a weak rose, blanched in horror at the sheer furious passion which had bubbled out from Stolas' mouth.   
"Tomorrow afternoon, Blitzy. Don't be late." The Prince whispered into the shaking demon's ear, a wicked smile carving a sharp grin across his pale face. The last contact he permitted Blitzo was a gentle peck on his cheek, and then he was up and out of the office, through the only intact window left ajar. Our fine, fluffy, feathered flirt cast a wink back at Blitzo - still frozen in place - then slid off the railing to soar across the sunset-lit cityscape below, leaving the imp all alone.  
Silence hung about the room for a few moments, until the last window finally fell off its hinges and shattered across Blitzo's office floor. There he sat - covered in his ruined coat, a splattering of fluids born of unspeakable actions, the telltale markings of over-enthusiastic, black kisses, and not a single thing else.   
Within the hour, Blitzo had stumbled out of his office wearing what remained of his shredded leggings, and a rather disheveled dress-shirt. The vest of which was missing several buttons, but it was better than nothing. Especially since he fully inteded to forget the past few hours within the next few minutes.  
Unfortunately, it seemed Loona had found his booze cabinet, and had drunk him dry. Sounds about right, honestly. The cupboard was empty, and a trail of empty bottles lead him across the office floor, behind the cubicles, and all the way to Loona, who was snoring on Moxxie's desk. It looked like she had attempted to write something of an insult on the little man's monitor with white-out ink, but all Blitzo could make was the phrase 'Upper-cunting manlet', though even that up for debate. Who knew 'manlet' could have so many A's in it? On the plus side, the canine was still clutching a half-bottle of whiskey in her stupor.  
With the stealth innate to his species above all other material beings, the slim imp reached into her hand, gently prying her paws off the bottle - digit by digit. It took quite a bit of effort, but eventually he managed to free the trapped beverage of her sleepy imprisonment, which he immediately took a swig of. 

"You still here, Blitz?" He coughed up the drink - in part to the distinct taste of cough syrup coating the mouth of the bottle, though mostly due to the sudden awakedness of Loona.   
How does that phrase go? 'Let sleeping dogs lie'?  
"Look who's talking." Her boss jeered, but it was nice to know he wasn't alone as he slumped down onto the floor near her.   
"Aren't you supposed to be out drinking or something? That's usually what you do."  
The she-wolf groaned into her paws, eyes shut tight. Someone was clearly not having a good day. "Augh! What time is it?"  
He checked the clock - sighing as it dawned on him just how many hours he'd lost to Stolas' 'company'. "Six."  
This must have been like torture to the resident canine for she groaned like a prisoner raked over hot coals. "Fuck," No doubt her plans had been ruined. "This is your fault, y'know that?"  
Blitzo wasn't really sure in what specific manner he had caused this crisis of character, but he knew he had fucked up. At least, in general."I know."  
The two shared a quiet moment. Blitzo took a swig, then handed Loona back the bottle.   
Loona downed a few gulps - hair of the dog, and all that then smiled into the messy brown reflection looking tiredly back at her. "So, you wanna talk about it, Blitz?"  
"I...." He began, then let the thought run its course. What was he going to tell her? That his 'lovelife' was a hodge-podge of sloppy hatefucking, being used for what he had and then expeditiously cast aside, or being left out in the metaphorical rain like an abandoned puppy not needed at the time?   
"...Not really."

  
A sloshing sound beside his head drew him away from his thoughts, and he eagerly took the bottle again to drown his sorrows within. The fluid stank of dog breath, and the whiskey itself wasn't much better.   
"D'ya... D'ya ever just look up at the sky sometimes, and think 'What am I doin' here?'" Her boss looked up at her, but she did not return the gaze. For the time, Loona was fixated on the ceiling. As if it were not there, and beyond she could see the sky. The red, fiery, blood-pouring sky lashed in flames and smoke. And beyond that? The white, glimmering plane of Heaven so far above, and yet so tantalizingly close. It must have felt like she could grab it. Imps didn't go anywhere when they died. The just died - No Heaven, No Hell. This was all they got but compared to the demons that shored up on Hell's banks? Perhaps that wasn't the worst thing...  
"All the time, Loona. All the time."

"...Hey Blitz?"

"Yeah?"

...

"Loonie?"

...

...

"...Sleep well, Loona."


	29. S1C12: Poor IMPressions, Worse Table-side Manners

  
"I still don't see why we're doing this..." Blitzo mumbled under his breath, standing just beyond the entrance of the intimidating manor and its towering main entrance. The front yard was overgrown with twisting nettles, and trees that were lined in wide, ever-watching eyes. Eyes that lingered on Blitzo, making him feel exposed despite the many layers he was forced into.   
The impish fellow had always fancied himself a fancy imp of fetching accoutrements, but to be dressed up according to another's tastes felt wrong, to say the least. Like a hellhound to be paraded about and made to do tricks for judges. All that was missing now was the collar...   
The puffy, rose-gold-gilded, crimson trunk-hose was one thing, but the ruff too? He felt absolutely ridiculous! Not to mention severely chaffed around the ass by the necessary (or, more accurately? Entirely unnecessary) bindings that forced his plush little butt to make a distinct, rounded form against the fabric. In all transparent honesty, he wasn't the slightest sure if this was 'era accurate', but it was as the owl had demanded.  
And it was so difficult to argue with a Prince such as Stolas.  
Of course, _he_ fit into his gown with grace and ease. He was all speckled fur and rich velvets, complete with a pair of jodhpurs that permitted his short escort a less-than-modest view of that firm DILF butt so tautly secured. "Do not worry your pretty little head, Blitzy. It's just afternoon tea. Besides," The owl's head snapped about with a loud click, forcing a judder of disgust out of Blitzo's mouth. "If you keep staring at my ass I am going to have to smother you under it again."   
Right. Eyes forward. The blush that set the imps cheeks alight made Stolas' heart melt in turn.

Finally, the door opened and lined with an accompaniment of round servants, a dapper dressed fellow greeted the pair whole-heartedly. He smelled of women's perfume mixed into his own rich cologne, and his hat was a little crooked (not that the very conscious hat seemed to mind), but otherwise, he was a most gorgeous sight to behold.   
With a grandiose flourish, the snake bent low before his guest. "Princce Sssstolasss." He proclaimed, sneaking a curious glance up at the prideful owl and his 'escort' through glittering, smoky eye-shadow.   
"And who might thissss...." The noble paused, searching for the right words. _Servant? Butler? Jester?_ "....Perssson be?" Nice save, but at least he offered the nerve-racked red date a polite kiss on his ringed claws.   
"Ah, of course. Might I introduce you to my favourite little imp, and a treasured 'friend'." The serpent gave the 'friend' a knowing glance. Everyone present knew full well just what sort of 'friends' Stolas frequented.   
"And, Blitzy, dear. Might I introduce the ravishing Sir Pentious."   
The resident reptile pressed his fine-dressed chest out, positively beaming with pride.   
"Pleasssse; the pleasssure isss all mine. Won't you come in? The ssssservantss are preparing the lounge for usss as we sssspeak."   
Once within the rich manor's walls, Blitzo had to avoid gawping at every inch of it as they walked. Stolas' mansion was all gaudy purples and rotting eggplant hues, with the heavy lining of cold greys to leave any guest feeling trapped within his icy haven. The truth of the matter wasn't too far from that either.

  
But here... fucking Hell was it high-end! Gold scaled serpents slithered up the marble pillars lined in rich rubies and shimmering diamonds. Even the furniture had jewels in it! Everything was polished to a perfect shine, and the many lit candles filled the air with the heady aroma of rose and spices. There was also another smell in the air that was painfully familiar, but the imp couldn't seem to put his finger on it.   
"I trust your little territorial disputes are not too taxing, Monsieur Pentious?" Stolas' words were sharp, and cut right to the core. Fortunately, the snake seemed to revel in this banter.   
"Interacting with the petty criminalssss that dare assssail our beautiful livesss, daring to presssume they themssselvessss the rightful rulersss, alwaysss iss. Of courssse, the ssssssatisssfaction one takesss in battering thessse classsslesss warlordsss about isss more than adequate remuneration." He even talked like a fop too! The obviously out-of-place imp could not help but roll his eyes at the serpents babbling. _Was this guy for real?_  
"Of course you must take great pride in your work. You control... what, half a pentagram point?"   
"The entire Wesssst Sssside, ass a matter of fact!"  
"Oh really?" Stolas covered a devilish smirk beneath his talons, clearly all too familiar with the bitchy nature necessary to hold parlay with fellow nobles.  
"What a grand achievement! Surely they will be calling you 'Lord Pentious' in no time at all."  
The two tall demons laughed, but whether it was earnest or not was anyone's guess. Blitzo, of course, did not see the humour and was much more concerned with when he could go home (which may, or may not, have just been his office).   
The smell lingering in the air still bothered the little boss, and he was tormented over its pressing familiarity as the trio walked. It was sweet, but overly so. Like strawberries crushed into a paste and mixed with copious amounts of artificial sweetener. It made his nose itch, and finally it all came to a point where the answer dawned on him just as the lounge door was opened.   
Angel Dust smiled back at the trio, propped up on one of the couches and delicately spooning an eclair into his mouth. _Him_. 

  
"Ah, forgive my mannerssss. Sssstolass, might I introduce the lovely Angel Dusssst." The bird was buzzing with delight at the sight of Angel, who was doing his absolute best not to break into a mischievous, boyish smile beneath all those layers of frills and ribbons. He didn't look as he had when Blitzo had last beheld him - not that his vision featured anything other than the spider's ass so garishly spread - but the air of him remained. The aura of slutty spider boy, even if he was dolled up to a perfect, italic tipped, calligraphy-grade T. He was undeniably gorgeous. His hair flowed freely over his shoulders, sitting perfectly atop his rather revealing dress. The corset barely contained the spider's powdered tits to such a poor level that Blitzo could swear he saw Angel's nipples every time he shifted. It was hard not to stare, but then, where else was he going to look? Every man here was gorgeous in his own unique, predatory way.   
"Mhm... I believe we have already met." Prince Stolas took the unoccupied couch with Blitzo in tow, clearly more comfortable with this whole scenario than his once-off, and current pets were. The lounge table was positively overflowing with all kinds of desserts, the likes of which 'dear Blitzy' had only seen in the windows of patisserie stores that would never cater to his kind in a million years. Some of them were flaky, and coated in sugar dust, with what he could only assume was some sort of custard oozing out between the layers. Others were definitely cakes, but they smelled far sweeter and richer than anything he had ever come so close to. Even Moxxie and Millie's wedding cake paled in comparison. To top it off, of all the desserts present? He had no idea what a single one was called despite the fact that they all featured labels.   
What was this? Fucking _French_? How the Hell was Blitzo meant to understand that?  
"Few _haven't_ met Angel in some way or another. He's very..." The owl rolled the words over in his mouth, then washed the more vile ones down with a sip of his readily available tea.  
"... _Popular_."   
"Really? I sssssupposse one asss dassshing ass Angel getsss that a lot. He iss, after all, excceptionally charming."  
"I sure am." The pretty boy chimed in, doing his best to be as delicate and gentle as possible when he swallowed each slim slice of eclair slowly. This was an entire avenue of social grace he had never even attempted to take on, let alone mastered, unlike his other more entrancing techniques.   
"Yes... _quite_." One of the eggs held open a silver cloche for the Prince, who brightened up immediately when presented with his favourite variety of snack. He took a little time deciding upon which of the white treats to devour but finally gave in to the warmest, most lively of the trapped rats. He plucked the squirming thing up by its tail and swallowed it. Whole. Blitzo felt like he was about to be sick, and Angel didn't look a whole lot better when Sir Pentious followed suit with a large, writhing rat accompanied with a gentle sip of his rich tea. 

  
"Ssssso, Sssstolasss. How goesss the life of luxury?" As if this gold-trimmed mansion was anything short of just that? "Sssstill organissing political assssasssssssinationss?"  
"Oh, you know me all too well, Penty-dear. A little bloodshed here, a violent beheading there... It can get so very dull." With how delicately he tipped his tea-cup back, one would be hard-pressed to imagine the owl had just ingurgitated a living rat like an absolute monster. And yet this was the very real, very horrifying world they lived in.   
"Sometimes it just makes me want to tear a district apart with my bare talons, and then _torch the fucker down_. Ah-hem. I just get so pent up, and it can get so very lonely in the court of this modern age. There are no jesters, no balls, no... what do you call it, Mister Pentious?"  
"'Trophy Hunting Partiesss'."  
"Yes, that does sound most wonderful about now. I have quite the spot on my wall for something large, monstrous, and riddled with teeth."  
"And in your bed, it ssssoundss."  
Another uproar of laughter escaped the two men, between sharp, hateful glares shared over small slices of cake. The entire venture was something of a test in civility, or so Blitzo had come to understand. When presented the opportunity, both parties would slide thinly veiled insults beneath the cover of compliments towards one another, and the other would in turn reply with a verbal riposte of greater cruelty, or admit defeat with a laugh that would be readily replaced with a sharp knife to the ribs in any less-civil situation. 

"So, Pentious. Mnhmm. _Oh, these rats are fantastic_." Stolas downed another of the squeaking little things before patting his mouth down with a silk kerchief. "Tell me more about this 'Angel' you have bound up in ribbons and lace. I'd like to hear it in your own words."  
"Ayy, I'm no-" Angel began, but was cut down beneath the rich red glare on Stolas face that made even Blitzo nervous. But of course, Sir Pentious was not reading the room. A crucial error.  
"Oh isssn't he a dear? Sssure, he may be a little rough." No edges were mentioned.  
"But that sssshould not detract from the raw, uncut beauty adorning he." The porn-star of extensive repute covered his blushing, freckled cheeks with a fan. "Bessssidesss, I'm not the only royal with an unlikely esssscort today. An imp, no lesssss. How very daring, Ssssstolasss."  
"It's still _Prince_ Stolas to you, snake." Someone had clearly touched a nerve, but Pentious wasn't backing down, nor did he apologise. Refined and vicious, this wicked serpent sat there with his brows raised and a cup of tea held with his pinky out.   
"If you must know, this is Blitzy. He's a 'business partner'. He has this little firm and they organise papers or something of some-other sort. But on the side I must inform you that, and I do suggest you prepare yourself for such a classical turn about, they follow through with unsatisfied vendettas upon the living world."  
"Truly?!" Pentious seemed rather impressed by this, ceasing his latest dissection of a glazed gateau. "Like the impssss of old no lesss?"  
"No less. And they are shockingly good at it too. Vicious, murderous little things. Isn't that right, Blitzy?"  
This was Blitzo's time to shine. This whole endeavour may have been fruitless up until now (cakes and tea aside), but here he was given opportunity to do the one thing he could for his business; network with prospective contractors.   
"At the Immediate Murder Professionals we pride ourselves on only the most gory murders, or your money is all ours and you're never getting it back. From stabbings to electrocutions, we have it all. We even offer a discount for pedicide with family orders."   
Something about what he had said was genuinely funny to the snake, who struggled to keep himself from breaking out into a vicious cackle. Blitzo wasn't laughing. Blitzo hadn't told a joke. Blitzo felt _used_.   
"Oh, he isss jusssst preccioussss! An imp picturing himsssself a bussinessssssman!"  
"Adorable, isn't it?" Blitzo certainly didn't feel adorable, but he was hardly in a position to leave, thus he took to pouting and glaring down at his comparatively oversized cake. Demons.   
"I felt that he deserved something fitting for this evening too. At least his place here is due, _among others._ "

  
The spider opened his mouth to say something he really shouldn't, but shut himself down before the stuck-up bird was liable to rip him apart limb-by-limb. Like he was much better! He didn't even charge the men that used him. That's just outright sluttery, regardless of how you choose to look at it (at least by Angel's twisted view).   
"If I may be so bold," The owl began, casting a hateful little smile at the dress-bearing spider. "There is an old saying I recall from many years prior when they were still running around with swords and ranting about chivalry. How very passé." Pentious nodded along, clearly the only one enjoying this hate-filled spot of tea wholeheartedly, totally ignorant of Angel's quaking fury.  
  
"It followed thusly; No matter how many frills, or ribbons, or delicate kisses you place upon a whore's tainted skin, it stands to reason that she will always be a thing to be used, and cast aside after, lest she infect those around her with her unclean presence."  
"No matter the bill, regardless of the quality, adverse to all the promises one might make in the heat of lust, she is still worth less than the spread of her legs. She is a whore, and will always be just that." He met Angel's gaze immediately, cutting him down to pieces beneath the royal's harsh stare, drilling deep into the teary-eyed spider's very heart. His words proved to be the most wicked of sharp, fine-tipped blades at this table - jagged, cruel, and utterly soul-shattering in its precise, hope-destroying hostility. 

"A whore." 


	30. Intermission

  
Most of his frilly dress was cast aside, landing with a splash and sending ripples across the entirety of the graffiti-covered bathroom's soaked, tiled floor. The rich, glimmering silk turned dark as it absorbed the vile water, abandoned beside a bin overflowing with scrunched up paper towels. Beneath the flickering white light in the icy bathroom, Angel met his own eyes. Eyes that had turned their makeup into an awful cascade of black down his freckled cheeks. Eyes that betrayed the spider's turmoil to the world. He looked down at what remained of the dress, now so ruinously torn from his legs to be free of the nettles and sticks caught amidst the fine fabric in his flight. The stiletto heels had snapped within the first mile from the manor and had been abandoned by the side of the road. His knees were scraped, and he stank of someone's filthy car. The taste of his 'generous' ride still lingered in his mouth.  
The gold, the gems, it all made him want to be sick. He yanked free the belt too, and threw it over the stalls with a shout of rage to follow it all the way down to the floor. What the fuck did he think he was doing? Did he really think he, of all people, deserved love? He spat the taste of cum out of his mouth, and replaced it with one of the cigarettes he'd swiped from the demon so kind as to give him a lift back to town. Thankfully, he had more than enough rounds to spare and emptied half a clip into the mirror, lighting the cigarette and then some, blowing off steam until the receiver ran dry.

Through the haze of smoke, across the shattered remains of the destroyed mirror, a twisted image of the multi-armed whore glared back at himself. A twisted parody of who he had once been, and a living insult cast into the eyes of everyone that could stomach his presence.  
Stolas was right. He had no place pretending to be in love, or thinking he deserved the nicer things of Hell. He was just a whore. And he loathed himself for being just that.   
He plucked free the glittering brooch pinned to his corset, then halted his throw mid-swing. It was a gorgeous ruby lined in little diamonds perfectly laid into the goldwork, the likes of which must have cost a small fortune. More importantly, it could be sold for a small fortune too, and buy him more than just a pinch of dust. Enough to forget about Pentious. Enough to get so high he wouldn't mind the pain, and he'd laugh, and dance, and wake up just to do it all over again. It'd be a waste to just abandon it here.

Eventually the messed-up spider broke free of the grimy bathroom, and all that was left in his wake were shell casings, the lingering smell of strawberry, a mangled heap of silk, and a shining jeweled brooch that had been cracked under the butt of a Tommy-gun. 

The train ride was long and lonely. A few demons still rode the express this late at night, some of which shared drinks out of a brown paper bag as the outdated metro rocked back and forth, but they didn't offer it to Angel. Of course they wouldn't. Why would he want it anyway?  
A familiar face welcomed him back to the hotel, but he didn't respond to her chipper (if inappropriate) remarks. A familiar elevator creaked and strained to raise itself off the ground floor, taking him higher into the dingy resort with the crackling sound of outdated jazz. A familiar, lonely bed swallowed Angel up in its messy sheets, and in the dark he began to sob. Alone.   
He was always alone. He would always be alone. He knew the next day they'd ask him questions, and he'd lie. He'd tell them he was sick of how stuffy the mansion had been, and say he didn't care about the snake anyway. He'd smile at them, and they'd smile back.   
When morning finally came he put on a grin wide and insincere, but enough to convince the ditzy Charlie that he was feeling better. Enough to pass Vaggie's half-hearted inspection that he wasn't lying to her too. The foyer air stunk of dust, and the bar was never open early enough. The sun did not creep through the ceiling as he'd hoped, but instead, a heavy rainfall torrented through the hole-ridden roof, filling overflowing buckets soaked in rust that were placed there years prior. A permanent problem that would never be fixed. He felt an odd kinship towards this condemned dive, then called himself a fucking idiot for thinking that.

  
Outside, Hell was soaked in another downpour, and Angel's growing suspicion was confirmed. Autumn was ending, and winter had made its presence known to the denizens of Hell. Soon it would start snowing, the fires would freeze over, and beneath the blanket of white he would hunt for those to fill his own sheets. Every man wrapped up in his legs another face to forget, and another brief moment of satisfaction to distract him from thinking.  
Angel stood by the breakfast table, swallowed the lukewarm instant coffee and grit his teeth, holding back a vile gag before forcing a wide, fanged grin to such an extent that it hurt his face. Everything hurt.  
Someday these painful memories would turn to dust in his fingers and would be lost beneath the covers in what heated moments he could steal away, and maybe, just maybe, one day he'd learn to forget how to hurt. Maybe.

  
Maybe.


	31. S2C15: An Alley-cat Arachnid Allures An Awfully Alcohol Affected Alastor

  
It was a painfully early Saturday morning when Alastor stumbled in, the smell of Courvoisier positively soaking his red suit. Rich fiery crimson lined the bloodstained greys born of this vicious villain's nightmarish fashion, so distinctly tight around his waist that it made Angel's spine hurt just looking at it. Among other areas inclined to ache around the strawberry pimp of a typical encounter - though this rude awakening courtesy of the smartly dressed deer was anything but typical.  
It was not the attire of this monster that drew Angel's attention - rather, the fact of the matter was that he had, in fact, stumbled into the spider's den wholly and entirely of his own accord. He remained at the door for some time, blinking each glittering eye of red slowly. Grinning madly through those yellow stained teeth as one as maniacally inclined as Alastor is want to do.   
"A...Al?" Angel stuttered, still quite unsure of what exactly was going on. The spider checked under his covers - no, this wasn't a waking wet dream. This was shockingly real, which begged the question as to why in all of the smouldering corners of Hell this was occurring.   
"Ya uh... Ya okay there, buddy?" Alastor, with his dated microphone repurposed as a cane, tipped forward and onto the harlot's bed with a dumb moan. Holy shit; he was drunk.   
Alastor - slayer of thousands, crusader of cruelty, the red plague himself - was completely, and utterly sloshed.   
"Angel....Anggeeelll...." The southern sadist slurred, looking up at the buxom boy through messy red locks and slightly smeared eyeshadow. Come to think of it, what of Alastor wasn't red, bar his teeth and skin? Not that the latter of which had never been painted in a rather bloody mess of just that. His lanky form did not hide how wobbly his movements were as it crawled across the bed, a foul grimace spread across his face before he fell back into the sheets.   
"Your bed stinks of sex." He hissed, earning a disgusted groan from Angel.   
  
"Al, what the Hell are ya doin' here? It's like..." Angel checked his phone - always within an arm's reach - but couldn't see the screen properly until he rubbed the sticky blur of sleep from his eyes. "It's like 4! The sun ain't even up!" That didn't seem to slow the deer down, whose derriere shifted back and forth mesmerizingly before Angel's eyes. Firm, perky, and topped off with a cute little fluffy tail.   
"I jrsst..." Alastor wiped a stray trickle of spit from his chin and pulled a little closer to Angel. He was quite literally upon the white-furred floozy, which spelled trouble for the spider. If this was indeed a dream he would undoubtedly be feeling something distinctly masculine in a few moments throbbing beneath the sheets. Whether that was from arousal or fear, Angel knew not. "I just wanted to see you." The overlord paused. "You're... very pretty. Have I ever said that?"   
Scratch all prior claims. He wasn't drunk - he was ruinously inebriated. Which, of course, put Angel in quite the tight jam. On one hand, any responsible, reasonable, and otherwise moral person might direct Alastor to a nearby couch, with a blanket and a bucket to curl up with.  
Were this any demon that kept with the seasonal slaughters of Hades (quite unlike Angel) they might run - screaming - from this living, literal nightmare.   
  
On the other hand? This was Angel. 

  
Our wicked arachnid stifled a giggle, relishing this moment (which very well might be his last). "No Al, ya've never said that. But feel free ta elaborate on it."   
"You're... very attractive? These are feelings that I've felt... well, never!" That stung. "But I'm feeling them now! And I just wanted you to know that."   
"Uh-huh." Angel nodded slowly, though he knew full well just where Alastor's eyes were glued to. The flimsy nightgown Angel had was hanging a little too low for its own good, and permitted the deer a glorious view of a pair of plump, plush puppies lined in freshly shampooed white fuzz, provided by a particular spidery fellow. "Al? Al?" He snapped his fingers in front of the overlord, drawing those rich eyes away from his rack. "Eyes are up here, doll."   
Angel would never have believed it prior, but Alastor could blush. A rich, heavy blush that spread across his cheeks like wildfire. "I... I wasn't looking at them! I was merely in-inspecting the err... the linen of your night-gown."  
"It's made of silk."  
"Right you are! And what a fine silken blouse it is for such a... a very large pair of..."

  
Large? Oh. Angel couldn't believe his ears. He knew he wasn't the biggest boy when it came to breasts (he'd seen bigger), so that could only mean one thing. Alastor had never beheld a set up close, and he'd certainly never indulged in these immediately pressing interests pressing against his tight crimson slacks either.   
"Y'know Al..." The spider let one of his hands crawl up from the sheets warm embrace, teasingly tugging at the hem of his gown in a manner that practically enslaved Alastor's attention. "If ya want... ya can touch 'em." Alastor's was, for once, speechless. But, whether he willed it or not, his eyes spoke a language Angel knew very well. Desperation. Desire. Damnable, undeniable degeneracy devoid of decent decisions.   
With but a flick of his wrist, Angel had Alastor all wrapped up in his claws, pulled up and onto Angel's lap like the most obedient of puppies before his arms gave out and he fell face-first into Angel's boobs. The sheer depths of his softness knew no bounds! Such fluffy, fantastic things this harlot had! Through the haze of drunkedness, Alastor managed to moan something along the lines of "They're amazing" or "It's nice". It was hard to tell with how much he was slurring, and how eagerly his face was pressed into the tits.   
"J-Jeez! Fuckin' slow down, Al! They're sensitive!" Angel's request was formally noted, and promptly denied as the deer ingloriously began motorboating them with his drool soaking into the porn-star's fur. Alastor couldn't see the floozy blush, nor was he in a sober enough position to note how the spider squirmed when his sharp, perfectly gloved, greedy hands pulled around Angel to better press his face into the soft mounds of Heaven.  
"Y'know, normally I charge for this."   
"Rrrly?"  
"Ngh... But we can keep this between us. Five more minutes, then ya gotta go back to yer room." Angel was having more than a little fun, a note of which Alastor was painfully unaware of, even when his hands groped up Angel's rack and pressed against the spider's firm nipples. Fuck, if this was a nightmare it would have to get a lot scarier a lot faster if it wanted to fall short of a really messed up wet dream. Not that Angel was opposed to a little fear in bed.   
Alastor wasn't about to waste a second of his five minutes, and pulled free to get a proper look at the harlot's heavy rack. Each plump, rounded breast ending in a defined, pink nipple that drew a whimper out of Angel when Alastor spread his lips and tugged gently on them between his sharp fangs. 

  
"I fuckin' said be gentle!" Angel barked, correcting the over-eager psychopath's approach. Clearly he's never done this before, and had taken to kissing and licking each nipple through his dizzying high. The deer was getting more than a little curious now too. His hands were sliding down Angel's nightgown, sliding the sheets back to reveal more and more of Angel until he grazed across the spider's erect member and immediately froze up.  
Had he...No, surely he hadn't just forgotten Angel was a guy, had he?   
Those luxurious eyes cast a worried glance down at the throbbing length sticking out of Angel's silky, striped panties, and at the sticky trickle of precum that had made its mark on the deer's glove, before shooting back up to meet Angel's eyes with something of an apology on his lips. He had never been good at apologising. Actually, truth be told he had never sincerely atoned for anything before, though this time he felt he'd crossed some border he was not meant to.

Right he was, for the look on Angel's face was a peculiar, alien one indeed. His lids were low, eyes locked onto the deers own, with his lips parted into a dumb smile pierced by several fangs digging into his soft, venom dribbling lips.  
"What's the matter, Al?" He whispered in a hushed, shivering tone. "I can still be yer pretty little doe if ya keep goin'. Ya can mount me, stuff me, an' I'll even do it for free. So long as ya call me yer bitch an' slap me up after for bein' such a cheap slut, Daddy."

  
Oh deer.


	32. S2C16: Dreadful - Utterly Dreadful - Demons, and the Dastardly Designs they Draw in the Dark.

  
"Angel, dear."  
The voice was curt, proper, and so very polite. Startlingly so, catching Angel mid-suck upon one of the Hotel's tried and true half-melted popsicles, having claimed the only decent sofa in the entire foyer before Husk took it for himself. That drunken cat had good taste in couches. Too good, in fact.   
The pretty porn-star couldn't help but note all the differences this man wore so proudly upon his blazer when compared to the person he had been last night. His red locks were brushed, clean and completely free of any wiry ends disrupted by way of drunken stumbling. He smelled of rich cologne and spiced body-wash that barely masked the smell of death lingering just beneath the surface. Only a slight rot of cadavers, of course. Every button upon his blazer was in place and polished to a shine, every inch of his suit was fitted and formal, and every shred of him reeked of dignity and manners. Kinky, at least by Hell's standards.  
"Huh. Yer up early." Shockingly early for someone who should be nursing the hangover to end all hangovers right now. What had his blood alcohol level been last night? One point-oh? Angel made it his personal mission to get as much beauty sleep as possible after drinking. Of course, that being said, his idea of a 'party' tended to extend over several days. "Wattsup?"  
The Blood-red damned soul tightened his bow tie, readied his microphone, and began yet another of his overdone, crackling monologues much to Angel's dismay. They say you can take the demon out of the radio, but you can't take the radio out of the demon. Or, something to that tune.   
"In the course of a demon's term in Hell, it's only to be expected that we are inclined towards the adventurous, aren't we?" The spider shrugged. "I dunno, are we?"  
"Absolutely! The what-have-you's of yesteryear drowning their sorrows in liquor and spritz is enough to liven up anyone's day! Why do you think I come here for if not to watch you sorry saps struggle in your immortal coils! Ha-ha! As my dear mother once said-"  
"Al, what do you want?" There were few things in Hell Angel wasn't in the mood for. Being schooled after the rebound was not one of them.

Alastor slowed right down, nodded for a few seconds, and put it plainly. 

  
"Toǘ̵͗̍͌̎̉̑͂̈͐c̵͐͂̑̔̇h̴̑̈̌̑̅̌͘͠ m̶̛̔̒͑e̶̽̌̿ a̷̍̍̄͊̕͠g̵̣̀͆ǎ̶̠i̷̘̻͉̺͚͒̎̈͋ṇ̶̱͉͓̭̈́͗̃̀͐̆ͅ an̶̼̟̰̜̔̎͌̊̋͗̓͝d̸̺̮̣͔͙̅̏͒͜ ̷͖͖̘̼̍̔́̔ it ̶̛̝̝̓̇͌̇̑̈́̂ w̵̛͇̍͊̂͗̈̃̈́iļ̵̧̨̙̜͈̍͊̾̍l b̸̉̔̓̐̒̊̋͘ḙ̴̫͎̬̘̱̞͍̿̆̊̂͝ t̴̠̲͙̍͜͠h̵͈̻͛̍́̈́͘e̴̠̹̔̆̈́͗̑̀ ̴̩̘̗̪͙͈̤͈̥̋͛͆̋̅ l̵̠̝̄͗͐͝a̸̗̽̕͝s̵̼͇̃̾̕t̷̫̱̿̓̄̀͋̓ ̶̪͙̈́̆̂̄̀͘ t̴͚͚͚̐́́̾̊̑̓͘h̴̯̘͍̋͐͑̿͗ĭ̷̩̩̲̒̍͆̇̽̅͜͜͝ń̵͕̲͕̠̉̃̔͘͠ģ̵͇̺̞͇͇̗̉͒̾͐́̈́̈̕͝ ̴̛̔́̑͐ y̴̻̤̹̥̹̰̎ȍ̸̹̖̫͇͌̈͊̇͋͊͘̚͜ü͓̬̥̐͆̔̽͛͘͠ ḛ̸̆͆̀vë̷̪̈́͌̃̿r d̶͝o̶͘̚."

The night-gown-donned minx slipped atop Alastor's lap, who was presently propped up upon the porn-star's pink pillows, wholly enraptured by the show being put on by the angel astride him. With a wry wink cast below, our star spider ground his perky rear onto the radio demon's growing frustration with a finesse reserved for only his favourite 'patrons'. It was clear the deer was enjoying it too - Angel could feel just how thrilled he was, throbbing with delight beneath the surface.   
"So Al, I gotta wonder. Yer always stayin' so outta touch all the time. Whatcha do fer fun with this?" He pressed his panty-clud ass down with added gusto, making sure that his partner could feel just how hot he was.   
"N-No I don't... ngh..."   
"Aww... come on deer boy. Y'think ya'd get ta Hell an' not be chompin' at the bit all the time? I'm honestly surprised ya didn't come here sooner. I'd have relieved ya of all this 'tension' sooner. For a reasonable price, 'course." With two hands gripping onto Alastor's coat, he began to slowly disrobe his partner. Sliding the blazer off, casting his bowtie across the room, unplucking each button to reveal the deer's mostly smooth, faintly firm chest...Ah, there's the money shot. He wasn't anything special - no eyes, no horns, no barbs, no tattoos - but the cute tuft of red fur in the middle of his chest was feature enough. Which Angel immediately smushed his face into, grinding in to the smell of cologne and spilled cognac with glee.   
"A-Angel! Goodness; you depraved harlot!" The strawberry dear deer barely muffled his laugh, giggling beneath his hand when Angel looked up from his soon-to-be new pillow and stuck out his tongue. What a peculiar way with words the dead radio-host had!   
Whilst Angel enjoyed himself, he put the remaining arms to work getting Alastor nice and comfortable, whilst the more adventurous of the set reached between the two and took Alastor's cock in hand with a firm grip, forcing a shriek out of him.   
  
"Whatsa matter, Al?" Angel beamed smarmily, pulling himself down against Alastor so that their lips were mere millimetres from one another. He could practically taste Alastor's mouth already - it was so painfully close.   
"Never had someone else play with this? If ya keep doin' it yaself ya'll go blind. An' that'd be... really... awful..." Angel's lips loomed closer and closer to Alastor's own, but was redirected with a gentle shove away from his target. Damn.  
"Aww... no kissin' neither?" The porn-star pouted, but wasn't about to give up altogether any time soon. "'Fraid of cooties or somethin'? S'pose I'll have to make do with gettin' my kicks elsewhere." He was back upon Alastor once again, pinning the bare butcher down amidst the veritable nest of pillows - beneath Angel's quivering claws, and beneath his glowing, off-toned leer. There it was; that unmistakable look of hunger. It was honestly a little frightening to the cannibal.   
  
"Y'know, I was hopin' for somethin' less..." With a waning sense of excitement, the spider began, after finally freeing Alastor's length from his tight slacks and bringing it into Angel's artfully gentle touch. He was hoping for something atypical compared to a typical cock, not that the length was disappointing in any way. He was just hoping this night would turn into a less classical affair, or better yet? Feature twin thick, scaled, venom oozing-No. No, he wasn't going there. He was _not_ losing his lust-high so soon.   
  
"...Mundane. But hey; whores can't be choosers, right?" Common sense would dictate that the right of consent is 100% a necessity of prostitution, but matters such as that are hardly appropriate for Angel at this very moment.  
"Now, you just stay there babe, and let yer pretty girl do all the heavy liftin' for a bit. Ah...Angh... ngh...Mmmm" Angel turned to present his back to the deer to maintain a guaranteed view of his gorgeous arse. His firm cheeks jiggled as he moved, and while he did grunt in a rather ineffeminate manner he finally managed the thick length beneath his panties and into his tight pucker. The pierced rim gave way with little resistance way and let him slide down the cock with a satisfied groan from both parties. Alastor all the more, finally having his cherry 'popped', as it were, for the first time in... well, _ever_.   
"F-fuck I needed that..." The spider's breath was haggard and he was shivering, but he wasn't about to let that slow him down. He rose up, drawing a moan right out of Alastor, before sliding back down with a squelch and a shiver of sheer glee. 

"Christ, yer fuckin' noisy Al." He jeered over his shoulder, casting an evil grin back at the deer.   
"Sh... Shoosh." Was the best Alastor could manage, but even that began to falter when Angel put his hips to good use. Working his rear in a swaying motion each time he rose, and fell back down with his clear, glistening juices bubbling out around the intruding member.   
He was so warm and silky inside! The rim did its best to keep all the lube in, but it still occasionally spluttered hot ass juices rather ingloriously. He was just so wet! Could anyone (excluding those of moral high-ground) blame him for being more than a little excited at finally claiming such a grand conquest?   
Alastor, quite sick of doing nothing, took a firm hold of Angel's arms and pulled them back, forcing a moan out of the spider when his back was forced to arch. "Gawd yer rough too!" He mewled delicately, in direct contrast to how fervent his abuse of his poor, gaping hole was becoming.   
From amidst the gloom, Angel felt _something_ shift against his thighs. He knew it wasn't Nuggets - his pet had been trained to flee from Alastor on sight, no matter how delicious the snacks our cruel red-fellow could dish up. Something long and wet and... _slimy_.   
"H-hey Al? What are ya... what's...?" He felt it again, causing him to shriek. It was so cold! A dull red light was casting ill tones across his dark walls, defining Angel within their crimson glow, until finally it dawned on him exactly what was happening.   
"So that's why ya don't come knockin', huh? Can hardly bl-AH!" He hissed as one of Alastor's icy tentacles slithered up his thigh, effortless sliding into Angel, despite how intense the white-furred fellow's hole was straining against the penetrating girth! "F-f-fucking Hell that's b-big!" He groaned, then felt another pressing in from around his other leg.   
"Ey, w-whatcha think yer doin'? This package can't hold-oh God it can hold it!" His tone changed very quickly as the second tendril pushed into him, and spread his asshole to reveal the plush, lube oozing insides for Alastor to press up into. Angel could feel the tentacles pulling him up and down, working him like a living fleshlight. His tits bounced to the rhythm, whilst his poor cock went unattended in his panties. Not that the spidercock wasn't twitching and trickling hot precum like crazy already, despite such little care given to it.  
"Call me yer whore! Fuck me 'til I'm fulla yer deer or whatever, just keep fuckin' me like this, Daddy! Screw yer little girl raw!" He squealed, squirting hard against the inky appendages so soon. They were so icy at first, but they warmed within moments once inside Angel, growing hotter to the point where steam was rising off his overheated form. It was almost unbearable, but that only served to further the spider's enthusiastic riding. Alastor wasn't about to call anyone a whore - period - but he was more than vocal enough to keep Angel satisfied with the grunts and groans that escaped him all the same. He pulled up against Angel, with his fluffy chest pressed to the spider's silken back, and his hands grabbing greedily at those plush, jiggling tits. 

Guess he really was a tits man at heart, beneath all that posturing and grace anyway. Angel didn't blame him - his rack was phenomenal (if most likely fake) after all. Faster and faster the two men grew in the heat of passion, sweat trickling down between them, limbs aching from the awkward, inelegant pose that neither wished to break free of. Not yet. Not as the heat soaking their thighs grey hotter and hotter with ecstasy just beyond the corner - just beyond the reach of their tingling, quivering hands.   
"A-Angel..." Alastor whispered, his dulcet, honey words soaking into the fluffy floozy's ears and making him weak at the knees. Or maybe that was due to the tendrils testing just how much dick he could take before his hips dislocated? "I-I think... I... I love...y-ngh!" Angel's sweet release was denied as Alastor came inside him, flooding the spider with hot, blood-red cum that immediately squirted out of him. He wasn't the only one that came, namely the spider soaked his panties through with glittering cum hands-free, his eyes rolling up and Alastor's half-finished sentence forgotten in an instant amidst the glowing heat of shivering, soul-stinging satisfaction.   
The two remained there with Angel wrapped in Alastor's grip for some time until the tentacles began to retreat, and Alastor fell back with a groan. What the Hell had he just done? Angel, apparently. Who fell down beside Alastor with a prideful chuckle and wrapping himself up in his bedsheets, locking eyes with the panting deer, desperate for approval. Alastor didn't look approving by any means, but it was clear he wasn't angry. At least, not yet. 

"Did'ja like that?"  
"..."  
"Come off it. It feels good ta have it all outta yer system, don't it?"  
"...It certainly... felt nice..."  
"Now tell me ya liked breeding me."  
"Don't push your luck, Angel."  
"Aww, what'sa matter? No need to be such a grumpy deer, now is there? Don't tell me yer ass is about ta fall asleep already." The bedraggled redhead shook his head, but it was clear from how low his lids were hanging that he absolutely was. Alastor was only able to keep the spider's gaze for a few moments before he sunk into Angel's tits, mumbling something about an empty bottle of cognac, and eventually passed out. A night full of drinking tends to do that to even the most iron-gutted demons, and Alastor was no exception. The faint glimmer of the early morning lingered beyond the curtains, but Angel still had one last curiosity left to fulfill. Despite his... oh, all decorum aside? Absolutely gaped, properly bred asshole, he moved with ease and rolled Alastor over. He was still pent up and needed this.   
With the sheets down he had a perfect view of Alastor's ass, so tightly encased in his slacks with his little deer tail flicking about atop it. Adorable. Angel's fingers crept up to his belt and slid the pants down, revealing that gorgeous ass.   
"Damn." He suddenly felt rather inadequate despite being the only one properly conscious. His heart skipped a beat. That was an ass worth going to Hell for! Sure, there were lots of nice butts out there, and some may have been bubblier than this, or tauter, but the sheer forbidden nature of this faintly red, perky, grey rear was enough to make the porn-star drool over his tits.   
  
"S'pose ya ain't against my havin' breakfast in bed?" Angel whispered, then spread Alastor's ass to reveal the deer's pretty, pink, virginal hole to the spider with a wink. Well, maybe not truly virginal, if those tentacles were involved.   
With not a shred of grace, Angel smushed his face in between those soft cheeks, grinding his face against the tight rim before dragging his slimy, hot tongue up along it.   
"Wh..what're you...?" Alastor mumbled, then moaned into the blankets. "Fffrrlss... nrce..."  
That was all the consent Angel needed, and he dug in with added desperation, gently stroking the man's still hard cock as he slobbered and dug his tongue properly into Alastor's squeaky tight boybutt. A scene wrapped in darkness, encased within the sex-stinking spider-den lined in tomorrow's light, complete with one of Angel's hands wrapped around his twitching length, working it roughly, chasing his lust high once more. Lost in a haze of sin, and barbarous need upon the half-awake man. Lost in his misbegotten quest for relief, tormented by the throes of arousal. Until he stumbled back to the realm of sleep, gracefully half buried in Alastor's rear.

"Pffft. Whatever ya say, toots." Angel scoffed, returning to his popsicle and enjoying his rightfully claimed seat on the couch. Alastor may have been grinning, but from how tightly grit it was he could tell it wasn't sincere. Any demon of rational sense should be begging on their hands and knees now, but it's clear that doesn't apply to our floozy, so why bother? Angel had his fun, and was more than happy to fantasize about it.   
"Y'know, if ya ever want ta-"  
"No."  
"Yer loss." He shrugged and left Alastor to go do... whatever it was that handsome devil did. After his ever-curt bow, the radio-demon turned about and strutted off from Angel and his frozen morning treat. The porn star cast another glance back at the radio demon, smiling to himself when he saw last night's handiwork still there.   
  
A pretty ribbon tied onto his deer tail, complete with a pretty red bow. 


	33. S1CF: Of those lacking in IMPecuniousness comes a willfully IMPrisoned plaything.

  
High above him, the pentagram-carved moon hung low and rich with an amber glow, casting an ill light down across the high bricked fence. In the recent months a set of spikes had been installed atop the guard, and with good reason, for upon one of these sharp pricks of metal somebody's coat had been torn. A long shred of bright red fluttering in the icy breeze of this star-speckled night.   
The stone seatings and adorned tables had been covered before the first frost, doomed to disuse. Even the stone statue of a well-known noble had been left abandoned to trickle water weakly down the twisted mountain of ice hanging from the mostly blocked-up fountain.

  
Beyond the enclosure the sounds of revelry could be heard - demons no doubt enjoying another drunken night spent stumbling through the streets - but were one to listen closely they might hear the faint crunch of snow under boots. Small, sharp-fashioned little boots trespassing in places they should not venture.   
His equally proportional (but still definitely sharp) claws strained for several moments with the vent, struggling to free the wretched thing from its welding, but it proved to be no use.   
"Fuck." He hissed under his breath, then stepped back. High above him the manor loomed, towering into the sky. A few lights still remained on, one of which was his goal. To call it a prize would infer it was his reward, but the truth of the matter included a bitter taste in his mouth and a faint wave of nausea.   
Opportunity presented itself to him in the way of a metal pipe running along the brickwork, coming just short of the bedroom balcony. Even if he made it to the top of the pipe, the stone overlook would still be out of reach. However, that was an issue for his future self, so all reason was tossed to the wind.   
The metal was horribly cold, and slick too, but he wasn't deterred. He'd already made it over the fence - and that was with the help of someone's parked car. Getting back over it would require a ladder or a set of stairs. The intruder had neither.   
He managed a few feet up but slid right back down thanks to the thin sheen of ice coating the frosty metal. Desperate measures were demanded, and in due response, his coat was called upon. It was already torn, so to Hell with the ruined garment. It was out of style already, anyway. 

  
Using the ruined, soggy fabric as a makeshift rope that he slung around every hooked nail he could latch onto, he eased himself up bit by bit, slipping down a little every few feet when his coat tore.   
Was the air getting thinner up here, or was that just him? This small criminal cast a worried glance down, and immediately felt his tail straighten out in terror. No; it was absolutely just him, but that didn't detract from how dizzyingly high he was. Comparatively.   
  
Once atop the piping, he had a chance to breathe, and take in the view of the city. Car lights drifted down the busy streets while every building sparkled with its hodge-podge of unevenly lit floors far beyond. Pentagram city. His home. They say home is where the heart is, but he never bought into that stuff. Romance was for suckers looking to get screwed over by chocolate companies. But then, why did his chest flutter so close to his goal?   
"This is fucked." Blitzo groaned, then again when he beheld just how very out of reach the balcony was from his current position. It seemed Future Blitzo was now the Present Blitzo who cursed his past self and his own foolishness for what he had been roped into. The coat wasn't doing much good anymore either - it was tattered and soaking wet, and his hands were too shaky to grip onto it properly. The little imp only had one option left, and he didn't like it one bit.  
With a grunt, Blitzo hooked his claws into the gaps between the bricks and began to scale the wall, cursing himself for doing this. What the fuck was wrong with him? Why was he like this? 

He fell - gasping - onto the balcony, wheezing for breath as he scoured the room. He didn't have to look for long, because the pièce de résistance was already awaiting him.   
Lounging upon his bed in little more than a bath-robe, Prince Stolas - Prince of Hell, Master of Time, and so forth - was quite preoccupied with a book no doubt of questionable content. He didn't even look up from it when Blitzo opened the balcony doors, instead demanding the imp "take off his grubby little shoes at once".   
"Feathered bitch..." The obedient hellspawn mumbled, sliding his wet boots beside Stolas' overfull bookcase, as well as leaving his soaked coat there. Maybe the tailors could fix it? It wasn't like he was about to wear the icy thing any time soon anyway.   
The room stank of lavender, but at least it was warm. The stone floor was a magnet for the cold, and chilled the soles of Blitzo's poor feet, but he didn't have to remain on it for long. A lone, beckoning talon dragged the reluctant imp onto the bed, which proved itself once again to be equal parts luxurious and warm. Soft too. Silky and smooth (and riddled with feathers) bedsheets formed the basis of his seating, of which he was promptly pressed down into as Stolas quite literally leapt upon him. 

  
"You're late, Blitzy." Those two red, glowing eyes were glued to the shivering imp, held in place by sharp claws to squirm ever so teasingly. Just below the terrifying Prince's stare, his bathrobe had begun to come undone, revealing his thick plume and gorgeous tits. Oh dear.   
"Well yeah, I was busy-"  
"No, you weren't. If you were 'busy' you'd have been here, doing what I wanted, and not wasting your time at that pathetic little office of yours." It was hard to argue with him when it was becoming more and more apparent how little the owl was wearing beneath his robes. The ultimate fact of the matter being he was wearing nothing - nothing at all, save a wicked, quivering, beaked grin of delight.   
"If you were 'busy' you would have been unable to answer your phone when I called. Do I need to take away your phone priveledges, Blitzy?"  
"...N-No."  
"'No' what?"   
The splotch-covered imp couldn't look at Stolas when he spoke, instead avoiding those rich eyes whilst he fulfilled the Prince's request.  
"No, sir."  
The owl stifled a laugh, setting fire to Blitzo's face with an indignant blush. "H-hey! You told me to call you that!"   
"I know dear, but it's still so very cute when you say it. So haughty and resistant. It's adorable." Still chuckling, the owl slid off his prey and onto the bed, making no attempt to prevent his breasts from jiggling as he did so. He knew exactly where Blitzo's eyes were, anyway. 

  
"I trust the trip wasn't too difficult for you?"  
"You made me scale a wall. I'm not even four feet tall, Stolas. That wasn't easy for me."  
"Aww..." The owl pet his thigh, and in turn, his pet followed suit and slid onto the owl's lap. Gently, the bird began to stroke his sharp talons down the spiky man's back, tentatively pulling forth a series of satisfied mewls from Blitzo. "Is someone having a bad time?"  
"N-No..." The imp had to admit, shivering into each soft stroke.   
"You're very cute, Blitzy. I can bathe you, dress you up, take you on walks, press you down and fuck you into the floor like a scratched up rubber cock... ah-hem. The traits of an excellent pet, naturally." Stolas' beak sunk into the thick ruffle of his feathers, absentmindedly pruning whilst keeping a direct line of sight to his imp. His imp.   
His comment made the smaller man smile, if only spurned by his sick sense of humour. "Oh yeah, because when I think 'pets' I think of getting dicked by them. PETA would have a ball with you."  
"Hoho, Blitzy! I think the only balls I'd willingly have are your large pair in my beak-"  
"Please no."  
"Or a set of those thick, arse-hole popping anal beads I have stashed under my bed. One of many, no less."  
Was it strange that Stolas' awful idea of dirty talk was starting to rub off on Blitzo? He rolled over onto his back, relishing in the gentle stomach scratches he was given.   
"'One of many'? You know, if you were so desperate you could have just bought a large set and be done with it."  
"But then how would I get my thrills from building up a tolerance? You of all people should know just how eager I am to-!" There was a ratta-tat-tat on the door, sending electricity through both the men's veins.  
Stolas threw his impish counterpart off the bed in a rush, and the cherry-read boss quickly scrambled under the bed, immediately meeting the sheer quantity of toys he had. Jeez; he really wasn't joking! The whole underside of the bed was practically oozing in lube, and stank of rubber. 

"Dad?" Came a light, high-pitched voice, followed by the creak of the door opening.  
"H-hoo, Y-Yes dear? What is it?" Blitzo couldn't see her face, but he could see her legs. She was wearing pajama pants, and her feet talons were lighter than Stolas. Softer too, though he didn't want to put that to the test, lest she spot him hiding under the bed amongst the forest of dildos and sex toys. For all he knew this tiny royal might launch into a fit of aggression and tear the imp limb from limb. Royals tended to be impertinent like that.   
"I can't find my water bottle, and Mom's already asleep. I tried to wake her up but she told me to get out."  
"Oh, sweet-heart." The little imp frowned. Was that sincere affection from Stolas? He had, until this night, presumed such genuine care was a foreign concept to the owl. "Have you checked the kitchen?"  
"Uh-huh."  
"The pool?"  
"Uh-huh."  
"Have you checked your school bag, dear?"  
"..."  
"Might I suggest there? Just remember to empty the bottle first, and have one of the servants fill it up with fresh water. We don't want to be drinking stale water, now do we, Octavia?"  
"No Dad. Thanks, Dad."  
"No problem. Goodnight, my precious little owl."  
"Goodnight Dad."

  
Silence hung in the air for a few moments until the door closed, and both men sighed with relief. That was a little too close. The huffy prince leaned back over his mattress, checking for his tiny lover but found only his tail visible from beneath the king-sized bedding.   
"Oh, you naughty little devil." He took the flicking red length in his sharp talons, and pulled the short man up by it. He weighed more than the owl had remembered - likely in thanks to the collection of the sex toys he held in his arms.   
"Really, dear? Hoo. You stink of lube, Blitzy."  
"And you need a storage system for your toys." One would imagine Blitzo might have lost his snarky demeanour given he was presently hanging upside down, but then that would imply the ex-carnival freak was anything other than polished. Blitzo; awkward, caught off-guard and nervous? Perish the thought!  
"Seriously, get a cabinet or a box or something. It's soaked under there!"  
"The only box I need is going to end up on your face if you don't start showing a little more respect to your betters, mister."  
With a huff, he pulled his toy-gripping plaything onto the bed, who avoided Stolas' eyes for some time. "So, you really care about your daughter, huh?"  
"Of course. Why, is that so hard to imagine?"  
"No no, I mean yes. It's... I don't know. It makes you seem kind of, well, normal." Thoughts of his own loved ones came to mind. Loona was hardly a 'daughter', but he still cared for her, even if he let her drink herself silly every night. But if he weren't there, then who would put a blanket over her when she inevitably collapsed on the couch, or passed out with her face smushed against the toilet bowl rim?   
"Please, you of all imps should know I have more than enough heart to go around. Mhmm... I do like this one though." The royal plucked free one of the more thick toys - a large set of beads that looked more like morningstar heads than balls. At least the spikes weren't sharp. 

  
"You know, Blitzy..." He began, letting the line-up of orbs dangle beside his come-hither stare.   
"It does get awfully lonely around here without you."  
_Oh good heavens, not again_.  
"And I've been dying to feel you inside me again, dear. It's positively aching just thinking about you - and it's so hot too." He squirmed, grinding his knees together as his breath grew heavier and heavier. He had such long, powerful legs that would take all night to finish covering in kisses before Blitzo reached the owls waiting length - assuming said bird could wait a few minutes, let alone the whole eve. "I can feel it pulsing for you, Blitzy. My 'box'. Maybe you're right, and I should stuff it to the fucking brim with all these God-forsaken toys. But then, wouldn't you rather I ride down to the very base of that fat fucking arsehole stuffer like a good breeding whore, and suck your thick cock dry with my dark, loose breeding-pit? Oh, Blitzy... Tell me you'll stay the night."  
How could he compete with those big puppy-dog eyes? The way Stolas' beak quivered, the cruel way he let his bathrobe fall apart mere millimetres from revealing his dark nipples, and just short of the hard, twitching length beneath the thin cloth having followed a long stretch of taut, feathery stomach - it proved once again to be Blitzo's weakness, and he had to concede to the Prince's wily needs.   
"...I'll stay the night."

  
Our favourite feathered flirt eagerly clapped his claws together, overjoyed at the prospect of having his precious imp all to himself.   
"Wonderful dear! Absolutely wonderful!" He pulled the writhing imp into an unwelcome embrace, followed by a reluctant kiss that quickly melted into another passionate, spit-dribbling dance between their tongues, surrounded by slimy flesh and sharp teeth.   
"There is just one last thing," Stolas broke free of the kiss, leaving trails of spit dangling between the smartly-dressed hellspawn and he, and reached for something beneath the pillows.   
The imp's breath was caught at the sight of the collar dangling before his eyes.  
  
"Be a good pet, and stay still." Blitzo did just that - though all of his instincts screamed at him to flee as those sharp, featherless claws drifted over his neck, and tightened the collar in place. Why did it feel so right being here, caught beneath that crimson gaze, completely within Stolas' control? His heart couldn't slow down, his legs felt weak, and his eyes refused to leave the owl's body. For the duration of these impassioned moments he was totally, and utterly, within the Prince's control. All that was missing was the leash, which the owl let sway from his claws. He wanted something. He _always_ wanted something.  
  
"Tell me, Blitzy... Who is my favourite little pet?" The leash's clip hung just before the collar's own. Both matching pieces of polished metal glinted in the dull bedroom light, desperate to be together. So close - so tantalisingly close - to clicking into place. All it would take was the slightest motion and they'd be together. Locked just so to be yanked upon, to be dragged on, to be reeled in for the nights first shameless embrace. One filled with the smouldering fire of shared lust wrapped tightly within the bindings of their sickly affair.  
Imps were always the shortest, the weakest, the most downtrodden and disregarded of Hell. They never amounted to much, and died in service of their betters. And yet, despite all this, Blitzo couldn't shake off how right it felt being here. Being in Stolas control. Being owned - wholly and completely. Being owned by him.   
"..." He let the question loom before him, much like the leashes' clip, for several seconds. If he could run, he would. If he could be free of this curse, he should. But he was the property of Stolas, and knowing this only served to fill the empty hole in his heart, if only with the most foul, unhealthy slurry imaginable. Finally, he gave in and fulfilled the request those big, heavy red eyes waited upon.  
  
"...I am." 

  
' ** _Click_** '.


	34. S2CF: Surely Sorrows Cease Someday? Certainly, but Sales of Suffering are Sky-rocketing, So...

  
Confetti rained down over Angel as he was circled by the over-enthusiastic woman and her party-horn trumpeting just for him. Admittedly, most of the coloured paper was caught in his fluff, so that's hardly a good start. But it was sweet nonetheless. The air stank of booze, courtesy of the nearby (closed) bar being in such close proximity, though unlike most bars this time of year it was at least warm in the foyer thanks to the large, roaring fireplace.   
"We're very proud of you, Angel." The tone of Vaggie's voice said otherwise, for the hotel owner's less enthusiastic cohort did not attempt to mask her sincerely disdainful tone, clearly unimpressed by the whole affair, but being the supportive lover she was? Vaggie remained. "Congratulations are due for becoming the Happy Hotel-" The Moth-Demon had her words snapped up from out her mouth as Charlie quickly leaned in, correcting her doll-like dear's words in a hushed voice.   
"-Are due for becoming the Hazbin Hotel's first successful monthly coin winning... the... Ugh." Clearly she didn't have the patience to put up with Angel's smug, smarmy sneer from across the lounge.   
"-Our first successful, One-Month-Free-Of-Drugs Rehabilitation Volunteer! Patent pending." The bubbly Princess burst out, clearly the only one truly excited by this whole affair. Were one not aware of how clueless she was (a fact of which would take great mental gymnastics to miss) they might mistake this whole 'rehabilitation' set-up as a vanity project, given this was Hell, and all the sinners within had been weighed and found wanting, long ago.  
"It is my greatest pleasure to present you with... Vaggie! Vaggie, the coin!" The off-toned Salvadoran demon lifted the wooden case Angel had been eyeing down for the past hour from its seat, and presented the contents within to the greedy porn-star. Against the flickering glow of fire, the golden token sparkled and glinted, showing off all the neat little detailings. 

  
"Greatest pleasure to present you with your complimentary 'One Month Sober' Chip! I wanted to write a poem, but I forgot you don't like poems and I kind of panicked. It's really swell though, isn't it?"  
'One Month' stared back at the grinning spider, who plucked the coin up and nonchalantly bit into it. Damn - real gold too.   
"Aww, gee toots. Yer too sweet." Who was he fooling? He'd been keeping his mismatched, lecherous eyes locked onto the coin for weeks now.   
"Y'know," Charlie's expression remained ever joyful, eagerly listening. A direct contrast with Vaggie who did not want to be here, did not want Angel (the lousy leech he was) here, and most certainly did not want his powdered ass distractingly swinging back and forth behind him. Not that he posed a threat to their relationship, for obvious enough reasons, but she already had enough to compete with given the 'latest benefactor' and his smug, cherry red suit strutting about. How does anyone compete with THAT?  
"It's been real hard this past month. That's thirty days minimum without coke, dust, blow, paint-huffin', booze, molly, horse, hard liquor, pops, grass or crack." Angel wiped away what felt like another nose-bleed before it had a chance to trickle down his face, carving a crimson line of guilt over his lying lips. 

  
"I dunno how I could do it without yer support." He plucked sweet, beaming Charlotte up, who wiggled with delight, and embraced his many-armed hug despite Vagetha's verbal contest of the matter.   
"That's what we're here for! And we're so proud of you, aren't we Vaggie?"  
The borderline monochrome moth-demon tried to get away with a vague shrug, but her darling wasn't having it. "Yeah, I suppose." She mumbled, only smiling when the fluffy floozy put Charlie back on the ground.   
"Aww, y'gals are so sweet. Ya get me, y'really do, an' I love ya's. It's really great ta have someone lookin' out fer my sore ass. Someone who believes in me. Makes me all warm'n gooey inside." Charlie was butter in his claws, that is if butter could jump up and down like an over-excited puppy. Angel tossed the coin up in the air and caught it easily, then rolled it over between his long, sharp claws. "Say, who wants a cuppa joe? My treat."

He blew a thick cloud of heat into his cupped claws, and rubbed each hand energetically together, but it was no use. Angel couldn't seem to warm himself. He was freezing out in this wretched cold, trudging through the icy breeze, muttering to himself that he shouldn't have worn a short-skirt like an idiot. When Hell froze over it was borderline unbearable. Even the streetlights had icicles hanging from them. Snow danced around him, coating every inch of the ground and casting a sharp contrast with the glowing green-and-white 6/66 store sign, which he walked right passed without stopping.   
How Charlie could be so gullible was beyond him.   
Down the icy, poster-covered alleyway, into the dark of one of Hell's many cramped, garbage stinking sidelanes he wandered. From within the gloom a familiar face greeted him, but kept its distance.   
"Angel, you're not s'posed to come round here no more." The man spoke up, brushing a stray snowflake from his hairy, green arm. "Tab's run out. Y'don't got no more free rides."

"Ey, don't be like that." Angel grinned over the fur of his gaudy coat, presenting a single gold coin for the 'respectable businessman' to oggle. "I ain't askin' fa charity. Just the usual." The demon approached - cautiously - then plucked the coin from Angel's claws. He bit it. Real gold, huh? The front read 'One Month', and he started to laugh.   
"Jeez, you're one nasty piece'a work, huh Angel?" He pulled a small bag of sparkling dust from his pocket and tossed it to the spider, who almost fell over himself trying to catch it. That didn't stop him from striking a pose, and pressing his barely covered tits out for the shady dealer.   
"Ya've had a piece a' this. Ya know I'm nasty in more ways'n one, handsome." His flirtings fell upon deaf ears, given the greedy green demon was more concerned with his latest pay-out, now clutched tightly between his fingers.  
"Yeah yeah. Come back with somethin' like this again an' maybe we can talk about you gettin' a new bill."   
As soon as he was around the corner, Angel wasted no time with his own latest ride, and immediately took a pinch of the vile crystal powder and snorted it with a sigh of relief as its ear-ringing bliss made his head a muddy mess.   
For a moment he felt all the pain - the aching, ever-present pain - wash away, leaving him a giggling wreck to stumble back towards the world of blinding white beyond this bleak, blackened backstreet.   
  
His journey was short-lived.  
  
But a few metres around the first corner a not entirely unfamiliar sensation hit him. Or, more accurately? He was hit. Hard.   
A solid object caught him across the back of his legs, causing him to topple onto the frosty floor, howling in pain. "Tha fuck're ya doin'?!" He shouted, reaching for one of his guns before the object caught him back across the cheek, knocking all that chemical bliss out of him, as well as a few fangs. "I-I paid!" He croaked, but through his double vision saw that the dealer had not, in fact, changed his mind on this lucrative deal.  
A baseball bat hung before the porn-star's face, and beyond it a thug loomed so heavily layered in an effort to fight off the cold that his high black horns only barely stuck out of his beanie.  
"Ey, what'd Sinpouch say to ya last time ya came round here, bitch?" Another man gave Angel a hard kick to the back of his head, causing his vision to escape him for a few moments. When he came to he was curled up in a ball, but the assailants had not left him alone. Not yet, anyway.   
"Ey, I'm talkin' to ya! Ya think y'can just go 'bout buyin' on Sinny's turf an' not pay the price?" Another boot caught him, this time in the stomach, forcing the shaking spider to cough up blood onto the snow. "Come on, what'cha got?" A new voice began, trying to pry Angel's arms from his chest.   
"Where's ya purse? Stop fuckin' holdin' out on us, bitch!" His raspy, scratchy voice hurt Angel's ears. He didn't want to be here. Lying in the snow, curled up like a wounded animal, crying like a kicked dog as unwanted hands dug into his thin arms.  
"Fuckin' whore!" The man finally gave up, and gave Angel another booted kick for his troubles.  
"Ey, y'wanna...?" One of the three men began before his cohort reprimanded his suggestion immediately. "Fuck no. I ain't spendin' the next few hundred years with a bad rash'n crabs. 'Sides, Danny 'round the block said she's looser than'a busted hose. Not worth y'time really."   
"Shame."

  
"Ey, ey, bitch? Angel or whatever ya name is. Look'it me." Angel pulled his soggy head up from the snow, leering into the mans eyes. That was a mistake. He grabbed the porn-star's hair roughly, holding his gaze before spitting on the whimpering spider's face.  
"We see ya come back here'n we won't be so gentle next time. Just fuckin' curl up an' die somewhere, slut." He ground Angel's face in the snow, forcing the pretty boy down beneath the layers snow, into the filthy, frozen mud.   
"Say ya ain't comin' back here again!" The humiliated harlot opened his mouth to speak, and the taste of dirt and grime immediately filled it.  
"I won't! I promise!" Angel whined through the muck, but the hand didn't surrender its grip. "Now say ya a slut, or we ain't stoppin' here!" Angel didn't want this, but the alternative was far less appealing. He swallowed his dignity (a feat not entirely difficult with the mud staining his fur and the disrupted snow soaking into his clothes, chilling him to his core) and fulfilled their demands, lest they take it out on his hide in some crueller, more sadistic manner.  
He cried out "I-I'm a slut!" before they finally let go of his hair, leaving him to his shame and pain. Something hot and wet hit his cheek, before the men started to shuffle off.   
"Come round here 'gain an' ya' dead. Fuckin' coked-up whore..." The last of the three put his boot to Angel's back as he walked by, making the shivering victim curl up even tighter, until their footsteps were lost into the snowfall.   
Alone. In the dark, and cold, this horrible alleyway was his temple of suffering. Mascara ran freely down his freckled cheeks, making his mouth taste even worse than it had before. He opened his arms to inspect his chest, and found that in the chaos his tiny bag of dust remained intact. He didn't check his bruises, or the empty holes where two of his teeth had been. He was disgusting. Angel crawled up even tighter into a ball, and began to sob, as the snow continued to fall.

The hotel's embrace was terrifically toasty, and the breeze that followed him in cast a harsh chill over those inside, but nobody noticed him enter. He had spent enough years sneaking out from Valentino to know how to keep quiet. The elevator was out of business, thanks to the cold freezing up the mechanisms, and so the very sore spider was forced to stumble up the stairs. Up the many, many stairs. At least nobody asked the clacking of heels where their coffee was.   
Once within his own personal, tiny slice of Hell, he locked the door, and slid down his wall with his head in his hands. His eyes stang and his fur coat was ruined. The worst thing of it all was when he looked down his shame was all too apparent.   
Even being beaten by strangers had given him an erection, and it in turn made Angel want to throw up. He pulled his sorry ass up, slid out of his stained jacket, and fell onto one of the rickety, blanket-draped stools he kept propped up beside the overstuffed counter. A weak snore from across the chilly bedroom informed him that his darling Nuggets was still happily sleeping. It made the porn star feel... a little better. He looked down at one of his many vanity mirrors, and grinned through the pain.

Blood had stained his lips, and dripped off his chin and onto the makeup-crowded bench. Two of his teeth were missing from the side of his mouth, one of which had been his golden fang. Fuck.   
His eyeliner and mascara had bled together, forming waterfalls of black down from his eyes. His cheek was bruised black, and his left eye was faintly puffy.  
"If I weren't me," his voice was shaky, and filled with loathing. "I-I'd take this fine piece of arse out to dinner..." He spat a globule of blood onto the floor, and pulled his concealed bag of treasure onto the table. He lined it with his fingers, and licked the dust off. It tasted sickeningly sweet. "First, we'd eat lobster, then I'd ask you to pay, and then I'd get down on all fours under the table... Hah..." His insincere joking didn't soothe the vile disgust he felt, but he wasn't going to feel that for long. Angel had all he would need right in front of him; A shortcut to Heaven. 

  
But... did he want this? Did he really want this? For the first time in a long time, Angel stopped. He didn't bury his face into the dust and flood his head with the fuzzy bliss of chemicals. Not yet, anyway. There was an alternative. Actually, there were several. Hope filled his black, inky heart, and for but a few seconds he considered that maybe - just maybe - there was a way out. Out from all this pain, all this humiliation. Out from this horrible Hell he'd dug himself into, and instead to familiar, firm arms to hold him close to their chests. Angel needed love, whether he wanted to admit it or not.   
He pulled his phone free of his pocket, and flicked it open. The screen was cracked from the scuffle, but he could still make out the recent messages on the screen. Five familiar (though not entirely friendly) contacts saved to his mobile phone looked back up at him with mixed expressions. Five options that could lead to relief from all this pain, or something so much worse for him to languish in. Five individual, unique little chances just waiting for him to not screw his life up for them. 

_Though, one is inclined to wonder; were these five wretches any healthier than what he was about to do anyway?_

A dapper snake, with a fancy top-hat grinning atop his luscious locks, held the camera of his phone up and two pink, glossy claws split into a peace symbol. He may have been over-enthusiastic, and the filters were garish to say the least, but he was sincere. Sweet. Horribly so. Did Angel even deserve something so precious?  
CALL [SIR PENTIOUS](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22253446/chapters/56241451)  
  
A black spider, as poisonous as he was short, glared at his brother across the frame despite the old photo being intended as a mantlepiece shot of their handsome family. Maybe once they had been happy, but that had been so long ago. Back before the taste of liquor and forbidden kisses filled their mouths. Now things were complicated to say the least.  
CALL ([ARACKNISS](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22253446/chapters/59106991))  
  
A wide, vicious grin loomed over from the clearly terrified Angel's shoulder, who was clutched tightly in massive, razor-sharp claws for the photo. The scene was complete with a little red love-heart carved into the quivering, trapped demon's exposed arm. The mark still hurt, and although it was covered in white fur now, it would remain on him forever.  
CALL ([VALENTINO](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22253446/chapters/58025209))  
  
A drunken, dizzy look was caught on the cat's face, and Angel knew full well that were this the full picture? A rather unimpressive length of barbed manhood lingered just below the contact's headshot. But familiarity breeds comfort and contempt in equal parts. Both would have to do - at least he knew where he stood with that easy target.  
CALL ([HUSK](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22253446/chapters/60325945))  
  
And finally, a frowning, clearly unimpressed red-haired demon was caught in a hurried photograph - an unwanted, but undeniably handsome trophy for the spider to grin dumbly over. But, he had been clear with his request the other day. Surely one phone call wouldn't hurt... right?  
CALL ([ALASTOR](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22253446/chapters/61231459))


	35. E1

  
Alone - amidst the garbage and empty cans- a muddied demon lay in the shade. He was beaten, and bruised, and his white fur had long since gone a foul, off tone. This sorry state of affairs looked down upon himself and what remained of his rags, in abject disdain. Even the lowest of imps avoided him like the plague - he was a cretin, to be left to die in the rotting heat of Hell's fiery summer. Perhaps he had not always been so alone, this sorry furred fellow. But now of all times? He was certainly by his lonesome self, and none other.  
Home to this wretched soul is a street few would willingly venture down. It was filthy - of this there can be no doubt. It stank of copper pipes and steam, and the whistle of a nearby vent made the dirty rats scuttle into the dried-up drain openings. The ground was hot to the touch, even in the shade, and what rivulets of condensation which had built-up on the pipes soon turned to steam the moment they hit heat-haze harbouring pavement. A pile of abandoned newspapers flickered in the Summer breeze, threatening to break free of their twine wrappings as a wind swept down the stone causeway.  
This hot gust brought no relief to those it touched, and the greatest of its achievements amounted to catching but a few abandoned, striped cups up, and sending them scattering amongst the bustling foot-traffic of Hell's city centre. A fate that destined them to be crushed beneath leather boots and loafers almost instantly. Demons dressed in dapper coats and tall hats strode passed one another, surrounded by the filthy imps scuttering by. Sitting pert and pretty upon copper seats, Hellish ladies sipped their iced tea and cast knowing winks at the daytime foot-traffic.  
  
And further yet, across the dinging, steam-spouting tram upon the main stretch of stone-paved street, a great sky-scraper pierced towards heaven, dwarfing its nearby glittering peaks of steel and concrete with its sheer length. This gorgeous monstrosity's twisting, brass-tipped points glimmered beneath the pentagram's fiery gaze. And within those dark, smoky windows the likes of which those below could only dream of transpired...

"A ssssslice of cake, my dear?" The snake held his mouth open, showing off the many rows of sharp fangs capable of tearing through flesh for the approaching morsel. Saliva coated every inch of his mouth, muddled with the neon-yellow taint of poison. The sweet thing finally slid into his gaping maw, held aloft by a long silver fork, of which he held no restraint in teasingly drawing his lips down along with his prize. The taste of gold leaf and unethically sourced pristine-grade chocolate was quickly proving to be his favourite, of which he was all too happy to smile over.   
"Another, Monsieur Pentious?" Unlike the hissing tones that mere moments ago had filled this echoing chamber, this new voice still bore the telltale trademarks of the hard life that it had once belonged to. But now an air of dignity hung about every syllable like expensive perfume, and would never be taken from him. Not ever again.   
From beneath rich fuchsia eyeshadow lined in gold, two mismatched eyes of ebony and ivory met the snake's own. His breath carried the same scent of confectionary as Pentious', and it too was blessed with the acidic aftertaste of venom that soaked both men's tongues in bitter bliss. 

Angel Dust held the latest sliver of cake up upon its fork whilst balancing the small plate and its rich gateau in the other. His Prince needn't nod - but an open mouth was all the invitation he required to serve. Another slice entered Pentious mouth, their eyes still locked, though each man's attention kept creeping down beneath the two of them atop this golden-scaled seat of sin.  
What once might have been a harlot pressed his tightly restrained breasts up against their glittering prison of fabric, straining at the lace lining as he brought a set of many-ringed, filed-sharp fingers to his mouth and drew on the golden pipe clutched tightly within it. The hit of opium sent his mind spinning, and his heart rising with the smoke.

"Ah...Ahnhnn..." The spider rolled his head back, the taste of poppy and cake heavy on his tongue as he watched the vapours coil and twist out of his open mouth and high above him. The palace roof glittered and shimmered with its twisted mockery of the Sistine Chapel looming above. He leaned further back and caught his own face smiling back at him from one of the many larger-than-life oil paintings on the scale-and-gold coated walls, which naturally revealed more than a little skin for those that might behold such a masterpiece. The warble of the record carried the sweet sounds of opera across the regal realm, enveloping the richly-dressed beauties.  
Of all the many rooms within Prince Pentious gilded, upper-class castle towering high above the outside world, this was Angel's favourite to make love in. It was utterly empty by the late afternoon, excluding, of course, the two lovers wrapped amongst one another in a fit of decadent passion. The arachnid dressed to the nines was doing his best to look away from his snake, clearly desperate to focus on something other than those soft lips now teasing at his collarbone.   
His skin tasted of strawberries and overly sweet perfume, but now the bitter taste of cheapness no longer remained on his groomed, perfectly maintained fur. What was once a dull pale-quartz had blossomed into a snow-like, pristine white that looked as if it glowed in the warm rays of the pentagram that crept through the stained-glass mural windows.

"S-stop it!" He teased, grinning all the while as he struggled to focus on his polished slice of Hell, and not how expertly he was being dragged towards release. Familiar claws danced down the small of Angel's bodice-bearing back, plucking a wicked giggle out of the clean, charmed arachnid. The glittering ruby necklace atop his barely concealed breasts clinked and chimed when he shifted, and where his pure white claws slid, pink-painted ones followed shortly behind. 

"You look beautiful, Angel~" His hissy voice never failed to make the fluffy floozy blush, even as he weakly pushed back against the royal prick. Beneath his crown-bearing top-hat, surrounded in conditioned, cleanly brushed black locks, a lovestruck Prince Pentious smiled up at his Queen. Or, King. Depends on the time of day, really. Not that Angel's title bore some semblance of political power - but it was nice to be worshipped, and in turn have something to worship back.  
"An' ya ain't half bad yerself, Penty." The spider whined, rolling his hips along the flexible, firm length shared between them with shivering delight that pulled the two closer together.   
Betwixt their toned stomachs, each man's twitching lengths (doubly so in Pentious case, naturally) dribbled hot precum, left unattended in favour of more.... immediately satisfying solutions. Angel pressed the long, studded dildo deeper into the snake and, by effect? Deeper into his own bubbling, slick hole. 

"Sssss-sssweet Chrisssst...." Dear precious Pentious whimpered, clutching tightly onto Angel lest he slide off the scale-detailed throne. His hole felt like it was melting in pleasure - a sensation not entirely wild to imagine given the excessive amount of lubricant oozing and trickling down from both of their stuffed royal asses.  
"Mhm. Language dear." Those freckled cheeks hid not an inch of his cheer, tightening as his fanged, polished grin cut through their shared haze like a hot blade in butter. 

"...Ah... And what ssssharp teethssss you have, Monssssieur Dussst." Angel rested his grip upon Pentious' trim and shimmering, gold inlaid frock-coat to relish in the svelte luxury of the royal garment.   
Where had the weeks gone? The months? Dare he imagine it had even been years? All lost in a twisting spiral of lust and bliss, dressed up in rib-strainingly-tight corsets and wrapped up in hot, shifting scales. Pentious' serpentine body twisted about Angel, pulling the dress-bearing beauty down deeper onto the toy with an audible gasp. Perhaps the term 'dress' was inappropriate - the large portion of the gown had been shredded between their claws to bear his perfect, jiggling, perky rear at the empty court, and permit their shared dildo desperately desired access inside both men.

"All the better to taste ya, gorgeous." The many-limbed beauty wrapped a free set of arms around his willing prisoner, and pierced the soft of Pentious' neck, flooding his veins with glittery pink venom. And in turn? The snake followed the steps of this wicked dance, biting into Angel to share the wonderful, soul-soaring delight of toxins between them. Blood and venom trickled free of their mouths when they pulled away - if only to catch their breaths - before melting into a sticky, drunken kiss.  
"F-fuck!" Angel cursed once free of Pentious sinfully velvet kiss, then promptly, though not entirely instinctively, covered his mouth before breaking out into a raspy giggle. Both men pulled one another closer, squishing their chests together. Pentious' tight insides strained and struggled to pull the toy deeper in, but Angel was not one to abandon his snakelike seducer when both of them were so close. He helped ease the dildo in with a firm, but slow, push. Perhaps in another life his talents might have gone to waste left on the screen of a camera, doomed to be constantly honed to a razor edge of such sharpness that using his own bubbling, loose hole as the anchor for a rubber, studded cock between him and another man was as easy as breathing. But that would take the thrill out of it. The passion - the exhilaration - the maddened need so tightly tied up in the reigns of barely bridled lust that urged them to fall off the throne and onto the cold black-marble floors to chase their orgasm all the more barbarously, doomed to be lost were this not as it was. Were this not as perfect as it was, no less.  
Prince Pentious buried his moan into Angel's waiting mouth, their tongues dancing amidst the slick slurry of pink-and-neon-yellow venom, dribbling down between them as their motions grew faster, more desperate, and hotter yet amidst this dizzying, drunken stupor of damnable depravity.  
  
"A-Angel..." The blushing scaled beauty broke free of the numb, overly slickened kiss and did his absolute best to speak through their shared haze of pheromones and ferocious felicity, with his mesmerisingly pink eyes lined in heavy hues of glittering gold and magenta eyeshadow, locked onto Angel. He was Hell's most desired arachnid, and in the hot glow of Hell's unforgiving pentagram, he positively glowed, rising and falling to the throes of their shivering ecstasy.   
The dazzled snake knew that this quite suitable suitor of silk and satin salaciousness was, without the faintest shred of doubt in his lovestruck mind, his most beloved in all of Hell. "I... I..."

"Shhhh. I know" The fluffy floozy of high esteem hushed him, and rested a lone claw upon Prince Pentious lips. He need not say it, for Angel knew in the very centre of his twisted, blackened soul that what was imprisoned beneath those soft lips was too much for his overflowing heart to bear.   
He always loathed when men spoke of romance in the heat of passion, but now that he was lost in Eros' winding maze too?   
It filled his eyes with hot tears. He could feel the snake growing weaker and weaker with every roll of his hips, their arms entwined around one another's body, pulling them together. Their hearts beating in perfect unison felt by both.  
He could bear it no more. Angel surrendered to his husband's pleas, and with grace reserved for only he, the smitten spider melted down the rubber length until their holes met and their fate was forever sealed.

  
"I love you too."

  
-𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘! 𝓨𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖚𝖓𝖑𝖔𝖈𝓴𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕲𝐎𝐎𝕯 𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌!-


	36. E2

  
The slap of wet flesh hitting a firm, jiggling ass. The sounds of exertion - panting, desperate, weakened - danced their twisted cacophony within the filthy recording 'studio's stained walls. To each slap came the creak and squeak of a bed crying out with every thrust, partner to each moan, pleading for the men atop it to offer the sin-filled endeavour some restraint. They, obviously, did not.  
A man coated in off-coloured fur moaned into the grimy, bare mattress beneath as a demon whose name was never shared, pushed down into him once more. The sheer length of this monster's monstrous manhood stretched his dark, loose depths to their new limits, straining against the absolute girth of all that he could take. This ungodly thick cock made his hips ache and his hole splutter as it pulled free, letting him gape and twitch for all his adoring 'fans' to behold. The moneyshot - further gloried by the less-than Angelic Angel-Dust digging his sharp claws into his empty void to stretch it open, completed with a dribble of hot lube - was worth every moment of pain it took to present.   
"D-Does Daddy like what he sees?" The spider teased, casting a drunken wink over his freckled shoulders first at the hulking, fat fucker, and then at the camera. The filming room stank of cum and sex - no doubt a product of the sheer quantity of shots taken just today. His body was tired, and various stains of hot cum had settled into his fur, now long since gone cold. It sparked a disgusted shiver that ran the course of his body whenever the thick goop was smeared against his fur courtesy of his tits being dragged back and forth across the bed. Mascara running, his glossy lipstick smeared, and his flesh pockmarked with deep bite marks - he wouldn't have it any other way. Or at least he had simply forgotten a time when he had. It hurt to roll over, but those strong, red arms helped him up and onto the waiting cock with a vile squelch and an over-dramatic groan.   
  
"F-fuck yes Daddy! Pound yer pretty... ngh, yer little princess!" The beastly brute wasted no time in doing just that by bouncing Angel up and down on his massive, hole destroying cock, right before the rolling camera that caught every squelch and tug of Angel's busted hole. It followed the steady stream of ass-juices and cum oozing out of him, following their journey down his bruised and patchy furred thighs, passed the distinct red pinpricks of freshly emptied needles, and right to his feet for those fans who now could get whatever they wanted from Angel. 

  
He was, after all, just another feature of Hell. A public service to be discarded and ignored in favour of whatever new, shiny, smiling beauty ran the headlines.   
A sudden torrent of hot cum flooded Angel's hole, quickly filling his stomach and bubbling out his split lips with no resistance, just a vile gurgling as the white slime trickled out onto the demon's soft chest. "Fuck.... yeah, show it off Angel!" The whiny-pitched, tiny cameraman teased, directing the spider's weak hands to his chest, which Angel dumbly massaged and squeezed through the heavy miasma of lust. The limelight didn't linger on his battered face for long, and instead refocused upon every godless inch of his partner's cock sliding out fully on camera to hang limply before the gaping, thoroughly bred fuckpit.  
The bruised and beaten porn-star's little giggle of post-coital ecstasy was short lived, given he was thrown onto the bed and given a firm kick in the stomach for good measure, forcing the sweet thing to vomit cum onto the mattress.   
"Yer not s'posed to fuckin' squirt on the camera, bitch!" The bigger man barked, taking a hand-towel from one of the assistants. But no assistance was offered to the freshly fucked freak. He was less than dirt in their eyes. A tired, old has-been. Angel tried to get up, but another hoof slammed into him, knocking him off the bed and onto the floor. Blood mixed with the cum that blossomed out of the mangy arachnid's mouth. Whether the spider had actually came was hardly the point - it was that he'd had fun. _That's more than he was permitted._  
  
"Jeez. Someone get'a bucket and clean it off. It's pukin' blood 'gain."   
The camera switched off, but the act had stopped long ago. Nobody respected Angel, nor did they have reason to either. He struggled onto his hands and knees, looking desperately at the crew. Maybe he wanted help? Maybe he wanted someone to see him as a person again, and not just some _thing_? Behind them the posters of other, more popular porn-stars sneered back. Beautiful dolls adored by their fellow studs, albeit in all manner of sexually suggestive (or outright pornographic - it was a studio, one must not forget) poses, surrounded by stars and high reviews. But where was Angel? Where were his posters?   
  
In the trash - both figuratively, and literally. The former was subject to change given the present mood of his abusers.

  
Someone took a hold of Angel's fur, and dragged him across the room with a trail of still hot cum following him. "Y'stink." The new voice spoke up, and before Angel knew it he'd been thrown into the showers. The floor was cold, and hard, and the hose that soon turned on him was worse than both. His shrieks were drowned out in a jet of icy water that barely lasted long enough to wash the dirt out of his fur before being turned off.   
"Drrr..." He slurred, before his half-finished plea was fulfilled and a small bag of cheap dope was tossed at him. Desperate, he tore the bag open, immediately ruining the burned powder on the wet tiles, but that didn't stop him. Snorting up wet dust wasn't beneath him any-more, and he lay there grinning dumbly in the water with blood trickling from his nose. Everything felt numb - and everything felt better. Just a little better. Enough to be tolerable for a few moments.   
"Come on bitch; yer not gettin' a bath. Boss want's ta see ya."   
The boss? His heart soared in his chest, and he pulled himself up desperate to see him. Or, at least, Angel did the best he could in his current state. The mind was willing, but the body was not. Angel slipped midway through getting up, and very nearly slammed head-first into the wall, but he still managed to hurt himself something fierce in the process. How long had it been since he was allowed to stand up?   
Hissing under his breath, he edged along the wall bit by bit. The boss wanted to see him! That was worth edging through a mile of glass on his hands and knees. Anything for Valentino!

  
The pent-house was just as Angel had remembered it - the smell of expensive champagne and cigars was heavy in the air, except the posters of his once-platinum-selling pornographies had been replaced with more adored, more fresh, and far younger porn-stars in higher selling sexual escapades. 'Kandi-Cock', 'Heart 3yes', 'Queen Tarantula' - all these names were alien to Angel, but he could tell from their photos that they were living life to the fullest.   
They weren't mangy, and unnaturally skinny, and missing several fangs. They weren't bruised, nor bleeding, nor denied the basic pleasures of clothes. None of them had shackle-marks around their wrists and ankles from being tied up of a night-time lest they try running away again.   
None of them were suffering like him.  
  
And high, oh-so-high above him, atop that couch of rich fur and richer felt, surrounded by his adoring women, Valentino looked down upon Angel in disgust. He looked down upon the broken man, shivering, filthy, stinking of cheap, itchy lube and sweat. Behind the smokey pink, heart-shaped spectacles of his trademark glasses, his gaze tightened, and his flesh-stinking grin grew so very wide.   
  
**_"You're repulsing."_** was all he said, and all he needed to say. Tears sprang to the corners of Angel's eyes, and he started to cry. Heaving on the floor, getting mascara-tainted tears all over the nice, clean carpet.   
"B-But I-" Angel stammered through the salty taste of misery, before someone grabbed the poor spider by the hair and forced him to look up at Valentino properly. The hand that held him was firm, and tight, and did not permit Angel the slightest shred of comfort.   
  
**_"Tsk tsk tsk!"_** Valentino huffed, holding a cigar up for one of his darlings to light for him with a snap of her fingers. He gave her a teasing wink and a slap on the bottom for good measure, before enjoying the stick of high-class tobacco. **_"You know why I called you here, baby doll?"_** The broken spider tried to shake his head, but the tight grip denied even that.   
  
The overlord of lust sighed, took a long huff, and let the smoke roll out between his fangs.   
**_"Who's in charge of 'this'?"_** One of the men that had dragged Angel here stepped forward, and much to Angel's horror, the man was not nervous. Worse than that; He seemed proud, even.  
 ** _"How much is she pulling?"_** The man said something, but Angel couldn't make the words out. It was hard to focus on anything through the dizzying haze of drugs - only Valentino's voice carved through it all clearly.   
**_"That ain't enough. Next time keep her going for a month straight. Make it hurt too."_** Angel felt a horrible look fall upon him from every direction. All eyes lingering on the ex-star, all thoughts slowly but surely falling into the more twisted avenues of cruelty. What had he done to them to deserve such hatred, such malice? He started to shake, knowing that the worst Hell had to offer was going reserved exclusively for him. His afterlife would be of the greatest pain, and suffering imaginable, capitalised with nights spent scratching at his bindings until the sinew of his wrists began to fray like shredded rope.  
  
**_"How're the stats looking for rape stuff? Oh? That good? And dogs too? Mhm... Might make some cash outta her for once too. Y'got Angel fixed, right? She ain't gonna get knocked up again?"_ **Protest was deserved of these sick fantasies, but the words found themselves unable to escape his mouth. Angel was a person! The very fact that he possessed sentience demanded these horrors were not forced upon him for another century until his soul transpired from exhaustion. And, more simply, he didn't want this in the slightest. The foul cocktail of tears and blood had stained his palate, and his cheeks, mixing with the dirt and muck as Angel began to open his bloodied mouth for Valentino-no. For _himself_. But anything he might have said was snuffed out beneath the sadistic Overlord's authority, and ground into the dust of subservience that burned within his very core.  
  
 ** _"You want to do that, don't you? You'd do that for Daddy, right?"_**  
  
The taste of bile filled Angel's mouth as he spoke, dragging his dignity down into the most sickly depths imaginable.

  
"....Y-yes, Daddy."

-𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘! 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖚𝖓𝖑𝖔𝖈𝐤𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕭𝓐𝕯 𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌!-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear reader,
> 
> As you are no doubt aware, these endings have been taking a considerable amount of time. Truth be told? This chapter has been sitting in my folder almost entirely completed for some time. I do intend to upload the endings at some point - finishing this work is of express interest to me. However, I cannot promise that it will come to be, nor even remotely allude to a timeline for each chapter's due release.  
> If they come about, then the stars have united and my passion has returned.  
> Nevertheless, this does indeed have at least two endings, and that is... well, it's something. Let me be candid with you; It has been a very difficult three months, and every day is one spent struggling. I am doing my best, and please; don't write a comment asking me if I'd like to talk about it. This is a personal problem that I have dealt with in the past, and I intend to deal with it in the future. I cannot rely upon others as a crutch, no matter how willing they might be. That wouldn't be fixing the problem. It would be remedying it. 
> 
> All the same, thank you all the same for reading this. It means the world to me to know this work passed 10k views, let alone the fabled 6969. I am extremely grateful, and humbled by your readings of my work. Thank you. Truly.  
> Yours sincerely,
> 
> The Author.


	37. E3

  
The radio crackled to life, struggling to latch onto the signal until finally it caught the song and wrestled it to the speaker. _"....Angel eyes, that old devil sent, They glow unbearably bright...."_  
A revolting smile snuck across Arackniss face, falling only as he took a long drag on his cigarette and blew the coiling smoke out into the speeding world beyond his comfortable driver's seat. The polished, black Chevrolet continued down the winding, cracked highway, carried on by those dulcet sounds.  
" _...Need I say that my love's mispent? Mispent with angel eyes tonight."_ The sun was starting to set, and soon he'd be expected to return home for Pop's birthday - whatever that meant down in Mephisto's playpen. But business always came first. It always would.  
The vehicle pulled up by the cliffside, and finally the engine quietened down, though the music remained. Just because this excursion was strictly business didn't mean he couldn't take pleasure in it. Lord knows it's one of the few things that make him happy anymore.  
"Ah hope the trip weren't too uncomfortable for ya, doll." He smiled at his passenger, though the beautiful thing didn't respond to him. A tentative claw reached out across the transmission stick, and opened her up. Within the polished wooden box the true beauty lay; One glorious, sleek fire-arm the likes of which artists could only dream of doing justice. Every inch of the long, sharp pistol was decorated, and lined in gold and platinum. They say the Beretta was the most beautiful magazine-fed pistol around, but clearly they have never beheld the 're-appropriated' weaponry of Heaven in all its majesty.   
Just touching it made his claws tingle - a fate far better than those that might find themselves upon on the other end of it. Something bucked the car, kicking at the metal, disturbing him from his appreciation of this fine hardware. He checked the magazine - just one bullet. Another kick disturbed the spider's concentration, forcing him to drop his cigarette on the floor. Lord have mercy...   
The door swung open, and the kicking grew louder and more frantic. He checked the magazine again - then locked it in place. The highway was abandoned - many roads leading out of Hell were - and even if someone did see him, well, they wouldn't stick around for long.   
He was just dumping trash, after all. 

Beyond the cliffside, the ocean of blood stretched as far as the eye could see, coated in the rich gold of the setting sun. With his keys in hand, Arackniss unlocked the trunk, and the kicking stopped. He very slowly opened it, and then quick as lightening? Reached in and grabbed the trash inside by the hair, and pulled it onto the ground with all manner of expletives escaping its lips.   
Angel was bruised, and sore, and stank of blood. His yellow sundress was torn, and barely hung onto his shoulders. His lip was busted, and his one good eye was toned red from a nasty punch. Blood had dried beneath his nose, and his fur was a patchy mix of white broken up with dark bruises and blood smears.   
"...R-Racky... please..." The pathetic thing whined, struggling onto its feet before the shorter of the pair backhanded it with the butt of his gun, knocking a globule of blood and spit out of the whore's mouth.   
"Shut-up. Ya got what ya deserved." He looked down in disgust at what his brother had become. It made him want to be sick. "P-please just lemme go... I won't tell Da, I promise!" Angel's pleas fell on deaf ears. Arackniss brandished his gun before Angel, who immediately flinched thinking he was about to be hit again.   
  
"Y'know what this is?"  
Angel shook his frazzled head from side to side.  
"This's one'a them Exterminator pieces. Course, it's been fixed up fah a demon'ta touch it, with a couple'a 'quality'a life' changes to boot. But if it goes off on ya.... Well, ya get the picture, don't'cha?" Angel most certainly did. His eyes were wide, and a puddle of clear terror was trickling down between his thighs and pooling at his knees.   
"P-please, just let me go." He whispered, exposed on the cliffside. "I-I won't-!!" He was caught off guard as the barrel was jammed against his cheek, shutting him right up. His sweat was cold, and his heart was pounding.   
"Suck it." His brother commanded, grinding the firearm into the tall, soft boy's flesh. Angel turned and opened his mouth, swallowing the tip of the firearm up between his hot lips. The metal tasted... it was quite impossible to describe it, but without any doubt the clearest feature of it was that it tasted wrong. Every inch of his soul screamed to be away from this icy-cold weapon, not to mention free of his brother's cruelty. Arackniss reached down, and flicked the safety off, readying the bullet. Angel's eyes were filled with tears, and he couldn't stop shaking as he gently sucked on the gun. "Preesshhe..." He whined, only to have the pistol jammed deeper down his mouth, complete with a sloppy retch escaping the poor spider.   
"Put ya gob ta proper use, bitch! Ya ain't worth nothin', not nothin' ta no-one. Suck it like ya suckin' a cock, yeah... Can ya taste it?" He set his finger on the trigger, making his dear brother frantically worship the barrel.   
Desperate. He was so desperate to live. Bobbing up and down the metal length, gagging with how deep he was forcing it into his mouth, trying to please whatever sick fantasy Arackniss was living out. Angel looked up at his brother, and beheld that look of red malice once more. The short, dark furred demon's face was split into a revolting grin, with all eight eyes bearing down on the bruised whore. Finally, the weapon was pulled free of Angel's maw, but only for it to slap across his cheek, leaving Angel on the ground, and one of his teeth a few metres away.   
"Up."   
"...W-what are you going to do ta me? 'Racky, preashe..."  
Arackniss held the gun up, forcing a flinch out of his sibling. "I said 'up'."  
  
Reluctantly, the order was fulfilled. Angel could feel his makeup running over his cheeks, and when he leaned over the boot of the car? Familiar claws, unabashedly yanking the pretty spider's dress up. "...I-If ya wan't me-"  
"Ya keep speakin', whore, but I ain't in the mood ta listen. Y'think this is gonna getcha outta this? Running yer gob?"  
Angel nodded, unsure how else to reply. That sharp little hand took a hold of his piss-soaked panties and tore them off, leaving the wet material to fall on the roadside. Once more that cold metal pressed itself on Angel, this time between his perky, exposed cheeks. He shook his head this time, whimpering as a fresh row of tears began to escape him.  
"N-no... please... I'm ya brother, 'Rack, please... Jus' lemme go..."  
His brother wasn't listening to this disgrace, and began to press in regardless. Despite the shape of the weapon, when it slid into Angel it immediately felt uncomfortable. The whore's stomach was in knots, and his hole squeaked with displeasure.  
  
"Please.... s-stop... it h-hurts..."   
With that the fire-arm was jammed deeper yet, forcing a yelp out of Angel. He was struggling not to wet himself again from the fear of it all. If Arackniss fired inside him now, nobody would want him. His hole would be a ruined mess, and if it really was a Heavenly weapon...  
"Ah God, I don't wanna die... please..." The powdered bitch was crying freely now, openly sobbing. He thought for a moment that his brother had a change of heart as the gun began to slide out, but that brief second of misplaced faith was rectified when the righteous firearm was forced back deeper into his dribbling hole. The drugged-up drag-queen couldn't believe it; he was getting turned on by this.  
Angel wasn't the only one. Arackniss had devoted one of his many claws to gently rubbing his own small, hard length, revelling in his younger brother's fear.   
"Ya like this, don't'cha?"  
"...N-No, Please....I wanna go home..."  
"Say it, whore. Say how much ya love it."

Arackniss pressed the gun all the way up to the trigger, properly stuffing Angel's arse with the cold, uncomfortable platinum, and making the tall slut whimper at the unpleasant feeling.  
"...I... I love it..."  
That wasn't good enough. The black, poisonous man took a firm grip of Angel's hair, yanking a sinful moan out of the pale prostitute, and using him as leverage to properly grind the cold metal in deeper.   
"Mean it, bitch!" With that, he began to work the firearm in and out. Every thrust threatened to blow inside Angel. All it would take was the faintest, slightest movement and the gun would go off. That wasn't the only reason the slut didn't dare move.   
It was the whole, wretched, wildly disgusting situation itself. He might die... No, he would die, and these were his last few moments. Hope soon twisted, perverted, and became something truly repugnant. He couldn't help it. His afterlife spent bent over, suffering and selling himself just to survive, had warped him. Angel was a twisted, ruined wreck of a demon.  
"Ngh... A-ah... I want it... deeper.."  
"Mhm? What was that, bitch?"

For several seconds Angel didn't speak, stifling every aching moan against every thrust - his last vanguard of dignity- trying his best not to roll his hips against the displeasurable instrument. It didn't last long, and soon what began as the faintest bucks backwards became a long, slow press to properly take the gun.  
"I want it, oh God, jam it in me deeper!" He cried out, squealing with delight as the weapon began to slide in and out of him at a faster pace. Angel was terrified, shaking, his eyes wide and his running hot through icy veins. He couldn't get it up, and through all that discomfort, through every cramp straining at his guts, every bitter, bloody second his tongue was left within his incomplete cage of teeth, the drug-addicted whore was relishing it.

"Do it!" He groaned out, knees bent inwards and his long, silk-spit-dribbling tongue dangling out from his open maw.   
"Blow it inside'a me!" His gloveless claws dug into the black car's glossy paint, scratching it through all of his pain and perverse pleasure. Angel's head was a swirling, dizzy mess of lust. His drool had made its way onto the trunk, and his tears were soon to follow. The slut couldn't stop crying, or shaking. His whole body was hot, and quivering, and rising up into the most awful orgasm of his entire life.  
  
"I wanna die! I wan' it! Fuckin' kill me!" He looked back over his shoulder, desperate to see the hate in his brother's eyes. He wasn't disappointed - doubly so when he saw his brother working his own cock now freed from those tight, yellow leggings. He was getting off on Angel's execution! Growing faster and faster with every thrust of the firearm, every roll of his brother's bruised arse. This was their sickest waltz to date - the Danse Macabre of the most unhealthy brotherhood in all of Hell. Angel could feel his ecstacy bucking against the gates of his sanity, his eyes darted madly about within in his head which rolled and followed the wretched desperation of their pounding tempo to its end.  
"Do it! Please! Please! Ngh! Oh, Fuck, I'm ruined! I'm... ngh... I'm gonna cum! I can't take it anymore! Please, please, let me have j-just this! I'm gonna cu-"

  
°

  
Arackniss watched the tail end of the Chevrolet roll off the cliff, the red splatter upon its rear window the last flash of colour as it careened into the rocks below, shredding upon the harsh outcrop before sinking into the red waves. The sun was low, barely a slither of crimson on the horizon. Day had eclipsed, and was being dragged beneath the sea just like the car and its occupant below.   
The toxic, little spider inspected the gun, giving it one last clean with his kerchief before tossing the bloodied cloth aside. He cared not for mementos.  
With shaky legs, he began to make his way down the cracked highway back towards another night spent cocooned within the neon-red glow of Pentagram City. He was, without any doubt, alone.   
  
Alone.  
  
Arackniss felt a loveless smile creep over his lips, and soon that expression of satisfaction rose into a cheery hum. With every step he drew towards his city, the more his world seemed to brighten up within the dark embrace of night. The radio began to crackle to life, and the dulcet tone of Sinatra filled the air once more.

  
_"...And have fun you happy people. The drink and the laughs on me."_

  
-𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘! 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖚𝖓𝖑𝖔𝖈𝐤𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕲𝕽𝓘𝓜 𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌!-


	38. E4

  
Angel set the phone back upon the table, scowling at the silently accusing device. The haze of the room hung heavy above him, and he decided it due to add to the weighty cloud some more. Betwixt his breasts, Angel produced a packet of cigarettes, of which he took a single, lone, bent fag, and gritting it between his mismatched teeth with a match in hand; set it alight. His reward was a lungful of the bitter, burning taste, of which he revelled in. The hard hit of nicotine came with a pain most familiar that made his lungs scream from the invading smoke, before letting it creep out between his lips to twirl with the foggy relatives hanging beneath the cracked and peeling ceiling. They say you grow accustomed to smoking with time, but Angel would never have that.   
Life hurt, so why should the afterlife be any different?

"Fuck it." He muttered, and buried his face in the saccharine filth eager to disturb its neat rows and lose himself for another night. To most it would have been a shameful act, but not to Angel. At least, not so long as he went without musing over it for too long. It hurt to think nowadays - and that proved to be the only pain he could not get off on.  
Rather, his was the sort to relish what bliss he might steal, and to take what he could. With his face smushed against the grimy wood, he dragged his nostril along the line with one finger pressed to the other, lest he end up coughing the expensive powder up in a plume of wasted cash.   
The whore reeled back, his pupils wide and his nose trickling blood - no doubt courtesy of how enthusiastically he had dislodged the congealed blood from the day's bloody cavalcade of anger and fear with the inhalation of drugs - as he sank to depths that proved crushing to his woes.   
  
There - for just a second! One fraction of a moment without pain, without suffering, without anguish, without turmoil. Utter ecstasy. He looked down upon his perfect, fluffy chest and grinned a smile comprised of pristine ivory and rows of gold. He looked amazing, truly a glimmering idol to behold and worship. With the grace of a dancer, the beauty slid forth from his stool amidst the shimmering room of flickering lights and rich pinks to twirl with delight. How cliche.   
"If I weren't me... why would I want to be anyone but me?" He teased his mirror, who winked back at him brimming with flirty playfulness. The sultry spider reached down and slipped out of his soggy skirt, out of his leggings - every article of clothing was pried free of him and cast across the room, disturbing the sleeping piglet from his dreams of full troughs and summer days.   
To the left, to the right, Angel Dust rolled his hips at the charming double reflected at him. Satisfied with how curvaceous he looked, he gave his bottom a firm slap, and let out a daring mewl of pleasure - oh how tempted he was to fall back into those sheets of his! There were such wonderful, sizeable friends waiting from him within his desk drawer... And the cupboard, and the bedside table, and the chest...  
  
But then, why subject himself to cold, unfeeling delights when the worship he deserved was waiting but a few rooms away? Self-flagellation hardly ever compares to an admittedly rare, but nevertheless enthusiastic spanking from familiar claws.  
He plucked up his phone, and began to compose a message most eloquent to convey just how he felt. What wonders of wordcraft he commanded, where the seas rose and the valleys turned to dust beneath his prose.

To: FUZZ-BALL   
  
[u stil up? 10/160)]  
  
[come on i no ur awake (21/160)]  
  
[guess what im wearin (20/160)]  
  
  
Satisfied with his extremely well-written prelude to pleasure, he cast the phone atop his mattress with little regard for its preservation, and set to flicking through his rows of feathery, wonderful dresses, filled with determination to outshine every woman the cat had laid eyes upon.   
"Do ya think he likes me?" the spider asked Nuggets, of whom it was revealed to have settled back to his innocent, porcine dreams. "Of course he likes ya!" Angel spoke, though only in order to make his reflection reply - as if his whole body was naught but a puppet whose strings are made to be pulled upon. No doubt a motion Valentine would also approve of.   
Our darling, pretty whore held one of his more skimpy, pink dresses aloft before the reflection's body, then switched it for his other hand with the woolen jumper with no back. Neither seemed quite right.  
Unsatisfied with the pair, the spider let out a prolonged groan before jamming them back upon the rack haphazardly.   
"Why wouldn't he like ya? Yer Angel Dust. Who doesn't like a star?" 

Upon the cold-lit, flickering television was a silent parody of the news, cast with grinning, demonic faces and gloomy weather statistics as the main stars, all of whom found themselves carved up equally by the harsh scanlines that lined its overbright face.  
The room stank of rarely washed bed-sheets, cat hair, and whiskey. In fact, it practically reeked of the latter. It was a cramped, tight little slice of Hell for the bitter barkeep, lit up solely by his grainy TV screen.   
The walls were dotted with small, cracked photograph frames - few of which actually bore anything other than a blank slate - and set with wallpaper so old that half of it was dangling off the grimy surface, let free to cast weird shapes in the gloom.   
Husk held the joker up in the white light, and glared at the smiling dandy before him upon the thin cardboard. Of course it was Alastor. That prick lived almost exclusively to make the small man suffer. Well, perhaps, and more accurately, the redhead existed solely to make many, many demons afterlives (fittingly) Hell. But, that hardly seemed to sit right with the self-absorbed, grumpy gambler.   
  
A sound most harsh to his sensitive ears startled him from his self-pitying, and a nervous shifting of feet beneath the knocking betrayed the origin's identity.   
"What do ya want, Angel?" Husker growled, letting the name fall from his mouth with neither honorifics nor any shred of interest.   
Silence was all that replied, and for a few moments he considered that his suspicions may have in-fact been wrong. Perhaps Alastor had come for his dues? Would this be the death of Husk - satisfying release and reprieve from his chronic drinking made manifest at last? The promise of sleep so sweet he'd settle into it through both seasons and rot without a care? "Come onnn Husky~" The whiny, nasally voice was completely unmistakable, and certainly not Alastor's. "Let me in! I want to show off my new ens-ensomb... ensemble!"  
The cat rolled over in his gross mattress, groaning and cursing the spider beneath his breath. Why couldn't that lanky prick just leave him be? Was it too much to want to slide into a slumber born of liquor every night without fail? Then again, there's only so many times he can finish in his own paws before getting bored and letting the striped slut have at him.   
  
"I'm not leavin' Husk. Not til you open the door." It seemed the nagging headache at the threshold of his room was not about to let up, and with another grumble for good measure the drunk pulled himself free of the warm blankets to embrace the dark room. From within the breach of this rotting door, Angel could hear a scatter and crack beneath a wayward kick, and a series of harsh, very foul words cast at the shattered mess followed suit. Soon enough his anxiety was met with the sound of various chains being plucked free of their locks. The bolts slid, the bar was lifted, and the door finally unlocked to reveal his predatory form for the dreary-eyed quarry below.   
Angel was beautiful. He was, of course, always beautiful, but when he put the effort in he truly glowed. The tight, waist gripping blazer barely covered his hips, and beneath those? All that remained was a very, very slim pair of panties that were more a suggestion of modesty than actual underwear.   
  
"You look good." Angel swooned, leaning down low for the feline to cop a clear gaze into the spider's cleavage, despite immediately turning his head away from it. It was hard to miss those silicone seducers even in a crowded room, much less so close to him.   
"Shuttup." Husk growled, still unsure why he even bothered opening the door. He knew how it would go - and so did Angel. Their bestial, animalistic desires drew them into this scenario far too often for Husk's taste.   
How many times had they fallen into the cardshark's bed, stinking of the bar they'd just departed with their lips desperately, yet lazily pressed together in a fit of inebriated passion?   
Undoubtedly more oft than Husk wanted to remember.   
Dishevelled, tired, and visibly foul-mooded, Husk was everything Angel needed right now. He slipped right into the wretched room, and took a lasting, deep inhale of its heavy scent.   
"Mhmm... rgh, you know I love this pit, Husky." The matter of whether this slobbish bachelor pad was a 'pit', was not contested.  
"Don't call me that." The cat growled closing the door behind Angel and stumbling towards a half-opened bottle of curacao left abandoned and half-finished atop his messy drawers, but the spider quickly slid in behind the cat to pluck the small, squawking man up before he could taste the revolting relief. "H-hey!"   
  
"And I love you too, kitty cat~" Angel purred, but Husk knew better. He could smell the PCP on Angel's breath, and the porn-star only ever indulged in romance when he was either out of his gourd, or crying about Valentino's own, special variety of the stuff late at night. Both had similar end results.   
"Y'know what I love about you the most?" The sickly sugary words drifted out of Angel like poison, coiling in the drunk's head like a snake settling into a rabbit's burrow. "What, my sparklin' personality?" He teased, pushing Angel's face out of his own. "You stink of blood. You pick a fight or somethin'?"   
  
The question met no answer, evident that the pallid narcissist encased in alabaster fur was more interested in his own asinine ramblings first and foremost. Figures.   
"I like that you know how ta have a good time. Ya aren't afraid of some fun, ain'tcha Husky-wusky?" Eugh. The names were getting worse by the sentence. The immediate benefits of being held aloft sparkled to Husk's right, of which he yanked up from the crowded bench-top and began to down with reckless abandon. Satisfied, he only parted his lips from the bottle to belch the rich scent of whiskey out. "Sure, if that good time involves booze. Ya got some?"  
Angel giggled prettily - at least, at first - though even that was tainted with lust as it soon withered out into a wanton warble, before he pressed the cat's face between his breasts. Husk was about to complain, only to find his disagreements nullified by a familiar, hard sensation pressed against his cheek. Curious claws slid into Angel's coat, and found themselves greeted with a lovely decanter of brandy.   
"Now ya talkin' my language!" Unfortunately for the little man, his attempt to dislodge the bottle were denied by a quick 'thwack' of Angel's hand. "Uh-uh! Mommy didn't say yer allowed ta have it yet. Ya gotta make me happy. Ya wanna see me happy, don'tcha?" Evident that his prize was denied behind action, Husk crossed his arms in a decidedly juvenile display of resistance.   
  
"Come on... I need it~" Angel whined, leaning in with an expectant look plastered over his face. Husk had already invited the spider in, so why deny him further ground upon the cats rapidly retreating territory of control? Husk opened his mouth, and reluctantly took Angel's into his own. Rough, booze stinking lips parted for the slut's glossy, strawberry-tasting pair, of which he practically jammed his rough passed to grind against the spider's drool-coated mouth. It wasn't long before he broke the kiss, then let out a loud burp from his booze like the utter slob he was. 

"Ahnngh... that!"  
"What?"  
Angel's lashes fluttered, mismatched eyes darting down to Husk's mouth. "Do that in my mouth."  
"The fuck is wrong with you?!" Husk growled, struggling half-heartedly to be free of the taller man's grasp. "But Husk-"  
"Don't 'But Husk' me!"  
"-I'm so wet already!" The cry of arousal weakened the drunkards resistance, and soon even that became nothing more than a passing notion when he felt the spider quiver. "Yer disgustin', ya know that?"  
Finally, he gave in, leaning up for the prostitute to rejoin their kiss once more, which was flooded with the watery spittle accompanied with too much drinking, and a loud belch that echoed within in the spider's mouth, flooding Angel's taste-buds with the taste of mixed booze and Husk's guts. The sheer depravity of it all made the satin seductress mewl with delight. "Mhm..." The powdered strumpet panted, stumbling before tossing Husk onto the bed in a heap.   
  
"I'm vile." He admitted, but this was no confessional. "Filthy. I'm wretched, repulsive, untouchable...I'm disgusting..." The spider, ever true to his nature, crawled atop the bed silently. One elegant, slender gloved hand after the other, with his long, hold-up-clad legs following in tandem.   
"You know that's how I like it, right? That's what I want. Why else would I be here?" Angel drew his claws along the stained bed-sheets, and took a deep inhale of the dark room. Beyond the closed blinds the outside world loomed, carved into thin slithers too fine to properly convey anything beyond a blinding white held back by fragile glass.   
Husk's suggestion that it was 'free booze' that drew Angel time and time again to his room was denied opportunity to arise before the arachnid was upon him, madly grinding his lips down on Husk's own, eager to drag every inch of pleasure he could from the intoxicated cat's boozy maw, before breaking to pepper his way down that motley, grey-and-white body.   
Husker covers his mouth with a paw, trying his best not to pur, and groan, and reveal just how talented the spider was at his trade. Each kiss sent shivers down his body, and made his numb lips tingle, desperate to embrace the prostitute's plush kisser once more. Angel looked up at him from just beneath Husk's barbed prick, idly rubbing his silken spit into it.   
"Ya like me too, ain't I right?" His teasing made Husk want to kick the uninvited guest out then and there, but he gave in to the warm, soft sensation sliding up and down his cock. Unfortunately, the spider's spit-soaked embrace didn't swallow up his length, and instead began making its way down his crotch and lower to hairier, damper locales.   
"H-Hey!" Husk barked, his off-toned cheeks flaring up into a burning blush born of booze and bewilderment in equal parts. "I ain't inta that!"   
But Angel was having none of it, and properly smushed his face between Husk's legs, burying his nose into the small cat's black pucker to draw in his "lover's" heady aroma. Unable to hide just how delighted by it all Angel was, he moaned into the dark rim making the rim buzz from the vibrations.   
  
"Ngh, you smell amazing! Such a gross kitty..." The slut was utterly delighted with the pathetic whimper that escaped his furry counterpart, and spurred by this reaction? Drew his tongue up along the pulsing rim, relishing the flavour before pressing in. The masculine, pheromone-soaked flavour was enough to make his own length twitch with delight. So rich and raw, like salted caramel, heavy and sweaty...   
Was it so wrong of him to quite literally suck on it like a depraved whore (as if he weren't (as if he were being paid?)) while working Husk's barbed dick with one hand? Another pair of his many arms rested beneath the furry drinker, lifting the faintly perky ass up so that Angel could get his lapper in at least several inches deep, before he was forced to gasp for air still buried deep within. The cocktail of breeding scent and musky cat made him dizzy, ditzy, and within a position where his actions could totally be excuse, right?

"Mnghangh... Scchhhlrrrrrppp... mhlemm lck...~" Angel dragged his tongue around the twitching pit once more, getting his spit properly matted into the drunk's arsehair, before digging his fingers in and streeeeetching the pucker open to get his licker inside of Husk properly, clearly desperate to taste the very depths of the growling cat's arsehole. The orgasm breaks free of Husk without warning, splattering onto his soft stomach with a surprised gasp escaping him. Fuck, not again! Angel pulled free to look up at Husk from between his legs - surprisingly not mad, but rather quite enthralled by the messy display. The look was made all the more obscene by a stray ass-hair dangling from his slobber-coated lips.  
  
"Y'know I ain't gonna be satisfied 'til my mouth stinks of yer arse, right?"

*

It is 10pm. Angel - makeup smeared and mouth tasting of cum - stands outside the familiar, half-open door that leads back within to a cold embrace and a dark room that emanates a loud, purring snore from within. The spider inspects his fingernails thoroughly, looking them over for any cracked edges of wayward cum left to congeal and taint his perfect, pink gloss. In another hand he holds his phone, and upon its cracked face? Several faces of better demons looking back at him. Handsome men that would pay the world to have the buxom spider within their grasp, or even just to settle in with their possession of off-coloured fur and mismatched limbs for a night. Their drug-addicted pet left without a home to stare back at their pixelated faces. And what did they offer Angel now? All they did was judge him.  
Far be it for them to show disdain for his choices! Fuck them! Yeah, fuck them! Angel tossed his phone into the nearby rubbish bin, after snapping it in half for good measure. This was his life now. So what if he felt dissatisfied, dirty, and degraded? So what if he had chosen a man that didn't really care about him? Maybe he'd spend the rest of his afterlife in this half-hearted relationship, letting opportunity slide by and romances turn stale and unwelcome. That was his call to make, not theirs.  
And at least it was his choice. Wasn't it? Surely it was.  
  
  
Right, oh gentle reader?

  
  
Right?

  
-𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘! 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖚𝖓𝖑𝖔𝖈𝐤𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕮𝓐𝓝𝓞𝓝 𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌!-


	39. E5

  
Charlie let her gaze linger on the poster one last time, tears welling up at the corners of her eyes before attempting to pull the paper free nails pinning it to the hotel's grubby, wallpaper-clad wall.   
"I just..." she began, sniffling like a child faced with the cruelties of the adult world. "I just don't understand." She murmured, the Nephilim's words helped to ease forth by Vaggie's comforting hand upon her back.   
"It'll be okay, hon." the moth-demon cooed, redirecting the sobbing, pale angel-spawn away from the last poster with its already removed ilk clutched tightly in hand. "These things just happen sometimes. Maybe he... y'know. Maybe he didn't really want to be here anyway." The Salvadoran moth rationalised as best she could, but it was no use; Charlie had already began crying again.   
  
"A tragedy, really." The static-laden voice of Alastor piped up from behind the couple, earning a tired glare from the grey demon. "We'll miss that little strumpet, won't we Husker?" The inebriated cat, still manning the bar with a bottle in hand, only offered the query a half-hearted grunt before returning to his drink. Despite this, the strawberry deer's words reeked of sincerity, albeit in an overdone, dramatic manner. Clearly, he was an actor at heart, even in the most tender moments.   
The Radio-demon's arms settled over the two ladies, ushering them away from the sorrowful room. "Don't you darling belles worry your dainty hearts, now. I can take care of this little... reminder." Vaggie cast Alastor a frown once more, but it quickly faded to concern as Charlie's teary turmoil demanded her attention first and foremost. Soon the pair had left, and Alastor was permitted the lounge to himself - alcoholic pets excluded.   
  
The jukebox crackled to life behind Alastor, lifting up into the whining tunes of yesteryear. The red-head yanked his scarlet sight back to the paper offender, all trace of mourning ripped free in that whiplash-inspiring movement.   
"Oh we will miss him, Husk, it's true! He added a certain..." The cannibal turned atop his heel, and began to lazily meander across the room towards Charlie's woe. Despite knowing full well that the cat wasn't listening, Alastor continued regardless. "...Soho charm to the venue. An air of degeneracy, what have you, but these things do happen, don't they?"   
His gloved fingers drew over the dusty tabletops, and followed the length of the faded couch-head before lifting off and settling ceremoniously upon the solitary sheet singled out by the sadist. "All the time, as a matter of fact."  
"It's not uncommon for prostitutes to go missing. Really, it's an awful shame." His sickly grin widened, ferocity and sinister malice brimming beneath the yellow surface as he plucked the 'missing' poster from the wall, admiring the playful smile on Angel's face captured in the photograph.   
  
"Especially when so few miss them."

*

  
The hall lights were dark, and dingy, drawing the shape of cobwebs across the peeling plasterboard. A certain tune had settled in Alastor's head, of which he felt no shame in pleasantly humming as he made his way to his door. It was a simple door, just like all the rest, but upon opening it it became clear his chosen habitat was anything but typical. No scented bath-towels upon his bed greeted him, rather the raw, heavy aroma of a bloodsoaked swamp flooded his lungs, as well as a good portion of the passageway.   
His shiny, beautiful loafers sank into the murky, red water as he stepped inside (though the muck refused to make its mark upon his crisp clothing as he waded inside) , and took a deep breath of his humid haven's heady fragrance.   
Off-coloured reeds and rigid, thorny vines grew from the muck, giving his very organic locale a distinctly overgrown, wicked form baleful at heart. Bloated mosquitos and hovering dragonyflys danced lazily in the room, disturbed by this crocodile-teared sadist's return.   
This bizarre terrarium was undoubtedly Alastor's - every inch of it forming the perfect, most comfortable den he could imagine. One he was decidedly making his way through, as it so happened, passing the mouldy walls to reach to the restroom's door - though it was a miracle the wood hadn't fallen apart, given it was almost entirely covered in dark, wet moss. But there was no bathroom beyond the bedroom's border, rather it opened to somewhere altogether different.   
  
The moment he stepped through, the air smelled distinctly different. Behind him a door stood alone in the cramped woods. A few venturous bugs and a mud-soaked frogs crept free of the humid abode and into the summer-lit woods to relish the pleasant breeze. Beyond the thorny clearing, the red glow of Pentagram city could be seen, along with the teetering tops of the various high-rise buildings built upon a foundation of hardened lava-flow and warped bones. Once again that troubling tune made itself known to the visiting demon, who let it slip from his mouth once more - this time in a whistle. He knew the way, and was in no rush to hurry along when the scenery was so very nice.   
The green of spring had faded into late Summer's cooling touch, leaving the trees dry and surrounded by dead shrubs that rustled with demonic wildlife - though none dared approach the strange demon strolling over the felled logs and sun-bleached bones as if he owned the lay of this land. By all accounts and purposes, by right of power, he might as well have.  
  
Perhaps, at one point, the beasts that roam Hell had once been people, now given into their demonic natures to such a degree that all humanoid resemblance was lost? Or perhaps Lucifer himself had carved these vicious mongrels and skittish, many-eyed beasts from the clay of creation? Alastor would have to ask the apple-scented man that very matter the next time he saw him - preferably over a nice tumbler of whiskey.   
Passed the rusted cars and eyeballing vultures Alastor wandered, often stopping to inspect the odd mushrooms that glowed faintly, or the smaller creatures too terrified to run, before he had finally found a familiar sight. The dry grass gave way to a patch of dirt and solid stone that suddenly, rapidly descended directly down into dark depths below - like a large well without a structure above, leading into Hell's earth at least two stories with a spiralling staircase carved from the rock to lead one down. Or, were one prone to aesthetic melodramatics? A burial site reminiscent of a chambered cairn's main pit.   
The dark sink-hole was easily five metres wide, and stretched down low enough for the sky's natural, red light to fade into a dull gloom. The lower one tredded, the less dirt they found upon the edges. Sediment gave way to solid, onyx-black stone. The sounds echoing up from within were guttural, and fervent. Scraps of fur and bones littered the steps as Alastor made his way down into the dark, before deciding it best to sit above the horrid display below, upon the edge of the stairs lest his trousers become sullied by the thick, black ooze below.  
  
"My oh my..."  
  
His voice caught the attention of something within the dark. As Al's eyes adjusted to the gloom, his grin lit up further. Shapes of bestial hellhounds were carved from the dark, lined in greasy, black fur patchy, and often interrupted by monstrous spikes that dug from their powerful forms. Several of them had taken to rolling in the black sludge of their favourite den, relishing in the heavy scent of canine sweat. In the centre of the room, a very dirty, very ragged form paler than the rest barely warbled its whining cry.   
"...Aaaaalll..." It looked up from one of its many 'lovers', lips drooling hellhound cum without a shred of grace remaining. His makeup had long-since faded to a grimy stain around his eyes, and his lips were stained black from licking the mud and tar from his betters that surrounded him. A heavy, unbreakable collar scratched with desperate clawmarks had worn the fur around the wretch's neck to the skin, and was linked in a chain barely a metre long to the centre of the pit's floor, which was coated in several inches of grime and viscous, black ooze. His tits - nipples long-since darkened and let suckle upon by pups - swayed in the slurry as a hound yet undisturbed by the red visitor continued to make use of the pale breeding slut that was once Angel Dust.   
And oh, how clearly that matter had become apparent over the months of captivity.   
  
The sadist covered his mouth in faux disgust, but in truth he was relishing the horrible display before him. The ruined prostitute was broken beyond repair. His hips were wide, matched by an arse large, jiggly, and covered in scratches and bite marks that were both fresh and scarred in. His dark, busted, loose pucker spluttered and squirted hot juices around the invading knot that pounded him senseless, earning a deep grunt from him with every thrust. Such a fertile form was not without the due weight, and as such his frequent use was met by a heavy hanging, pregnant stomach tainted by the constant, throbbing erection pressing up into the muck-smeared fur from below.   
  
"Alastor... Alll.... Please..." Angel whined, struggling to focus his tired, mismatched eyes on the leering, cherry-red monster. He couldn't finish his sentence before the animal tightened its fangs around his neck to hold Angel in place as it came - pumping Angel to overflow with white, sticky cum. The poor slut was so accustomed to this treatment that he came hands free, soaking his stomach in a pathetic display just knowing he was being knocked up for the umpteenth time that day.   
"And here I thought you'd feel 'liberated' granted such an afterlife. How very disappointing of you." Alastor's words echoed in Angel's drained, disoriented mind, haunting what remained of him as he slid into the tar of his new 'home'. Cum squirted freely of his violated hole in a wretched, wet " **Prrrbbbbllttssh** ", quickly creating a white puddle of sticky sin behind him as his monstrously hung partner casually sauntered off, preoccupied with its brethren fighting over the shredded remains of Angel's expensive boots.  
"But please, pardon my intrusion; clearly your darling attention is required elsewhere." The spider looked up at the wide-hipped, heavy, bestial rear presented before him. Such a display would repulse most demons, but Angel was obedient, and did his best (though obviously struggled with it all) to pull himself up beneath the tail of one of his many, many 'lovers'. A large, dark, rubbery ring of pucker as big as his entire face greeted his attention, which he eagerly ground his whorish countenance into, followed by his tongue desperately pressing inside the beasts revoltingly addictive arsehole. A set of his hands cupped the hellhounds heavy, fist-thick balls, kneading them, unable to pretend his soul purpose in life wasn't tending to their arousal at all times.   
  
How long had Angel remained down here, suffering the beasts' torment? Days faded to nights that in turn were swallowed up by the rising, red sun - though he rarely beheld its glow beyond the midday zenith. He was denied protection from the elements and offered no respite from Alastor's brutal punishment. Sleep never took him, and though he felt as is he were starving and dying of thirst, no deliverance was granted beyond the times his four-legged counterparts decided to use his throat as their urinal - promptly after forcing their knots between his plush, dark lips with a sickening pop and a grunt of relief.   
  
The strained whore attempted to remain proper - oh how he did! He did his best to only kiss and gently tongue the hole, but his 'lover' was having none of it, and ground its bestial rump against him - demanding more. Angel could not refuse - he was not permitted it.   
Like the most depraved of degenerates, the sex-stinking whore began to make out with the twitching pucker presented to him, claws digging in to open the wrinkled hole so as to drag his tastebuds along the beasts dark, slimy depths. "Eugh! How can you stomach such depravity?" Alastor's teasing did not let up - though Angel had not seen him for weeks, it felt as if he had never left. A seemingly endless tirade of cruel remarks that followed him with every moment of suffering.   
The hole before him tightened, and before the once famous pornstar could pull away, another hound had mounted him, sliding its two-fist-thick knot into his rear with ease despite the spider's hips straining from the sheer volume forced within. He groaned out into the monsters hole as it tightened, and forced the raw, hot scent of beast-hole tainted air into Angel's mouth in a deplorable, loud, vibrating display. Above him, Alastor audibly gagged - though it was all for show. Beneath his silk kerchief his grin was wider than any living demon had seen.   
  
"...A-Al!" Angel groaned, coughing up the hellhounds ass juices on the floor amidst his puffy asshole's knotting. "Please! M-make them stop!" He cried, fresh tears running over his dirty cheeks. A red glow glimmered from within the gloom that concealed much of Alastor from the bedraggled bitch.   
"Stop?" That honeyed, southern tone asked with sheer ecstasy soaking every sweet syllable.   
A growling sound echoed from within the pit's cave, inspiring Angel's latest top to pull free (after quickly depositing half a litre of cum into the stuffed slut) and scamper away with its tail between its legs. No, oh God no. Angel's blood turned to ice and he began yanking at his bindings, but it was to no avail. They would never let go of him so long as Alastor loathed him - and oh; how the radio demon could hold a grudge! Two monstrously massive smouldering hounds far bigger than the rest crept forth from their den, each larger than a horse with knots thicker than one of Angel's already huge cheeks. His terror only grew as they sniffed and licked him curiously, one set itself over him with its gut-rearranging cock positioned against the whore's eagerly pulsing pit, while the other settled with its gigantic arsehole right before Angel.  
  
The dark, faintly gaping, black pit winked at the whore, its heat radiating from within the puffy, shoulder-wide depths of despair. "Why ever would you want this to stop?" He could not see the radio demon around the huge, muscular behind before him. Perhaps that was why he considered it appropriate to appease the abhorrent animals, moving through the heavy miasma of lust as he took ahold of his breasts and drew them against the beasts hole in some perverted display of worship. But Alastor could see him perfectly.  
"Don't you want to kiss your husband? Or do you no longer take to violating others with your tongue while they rest, hm?"   
"N...No... I... I love him..." Angel slurred out, head dizzy from the pheromones tainting his consciousness, and making the tips of his fingers and feet tingle numbly. The other alpha hell-beast had its fill of waiting, and began to press into Angel. The slut screamed against the black hole before him, but the pain was but a passing memory as his hips dislocated around the beast's overwhelming girth. The foremost beast's black rim tightened against the whore ground upon it, oozing juices so potent with the taste of breeding fervour that even the strongest liquor could not compare to its effects upon the experienced Angel. He began to squirt - hard - hellhound cum jettisoning out around the cock that was rapidly stretching his impossibly deep depths, and forcing the previous lovers (and the many lovers before that) cum up and out of his mouth with a wet, gross retch. It wasn't long before his error made itself present again as the huge hole in front of him squirted the slurry of hound semen back into his eagerly awaiting mouth.   
"You know, my effeminate fellow, Charlie pulled down your posters today." The spider's heart sank into the murky depths of heated arousal brimming up from within to swallow all of him. "N-nuh-uh!" He managed, childish as it was, before barely covering his mouth lest he waste more of his betters' seed.  
  
Alastor had seen enough, and pulled himself up. "Y-yer l-lyin-aaaahngh!!" Angel cried, sobbing and squealing as beast behind him's long tip reached his throat, and the knot finally stretched his desperately pulsing, bubbling pit to its maximum before being swallowed up, only to pull out moments latter with a wet, gross pop so loud it made Angel's soft behind jiggle.   
"They're... ngh! They love me, right?" Whether he was talking about his friends back at the hotel, or the beasts, it was unclear. Content to make Angel suffer that little bit more, Alastor produced the last poster from his blazer-pocket, and cast it into the muck before Angel. The paper was immediately soaked by the black ooze's touch, but the unmistakable image of a prettier star smiled back at the dull-eyed whore - mockingly.   
The spider barely had a second before another expulsion of hot cum burst free of his mouth, coating the last sight he'd ever see of his past self in cum puke. Worse yet, in his desperation he tried to lift it free of the vile mix, only to be sat on by the beast - the sounds of his captor's laughter muffled beneath the rubbery squeak of the beasts gigantic hole swallowing up his mind in its corrupting, bitter-sweet scent. After a few moments of being ground into the sludge, he was permitted fresh air as the other alpha pulled him free, given such an angle had made his cock-shaped insides difficult to push into fully.  
  
"I..I'm..." Angel slurred, inspiring Alastor's interest. "Oh? 'I'm' what?" He leaned down, curiously eyeing off his victim as the spider finally succumbed to the torment. His eyes were glazed over, and his tongue hung out freely.   
"I'm their bitch!! I ain't worth anyone's time! Ahn, soak my fuckin' face in the smell of your ass again!" He groaned, fondling and dragging his soaked tits across the shoulder-wide, spit-soaked hell-hound pit in front of him with maddened fervour. There was no going back now - he was their plaything. A pregnant, breedable dogslut made to be raped again, and _again, and **again** for all eternity. _

"I'm ruined! I... ahngh! They've stuffed me full'a pups, Al! Oh God, my hole! I'm so broken...hnghk!" Another explosion of cum escaped his mouth, soaking the heavy pair of balls before Angel, undoubtedly destined to be emptied into him before the night was out.   
"Ah love my hrssbnds!" He slurred, looking up at Alastor one last time with his cheek smushed against the beasts twitching, smouldering-hot hole. His vision was blurred courtesy of the unbelievable pleasure assailing him and curdling his mind, scraping away more and more of his memories as he gave in to the beasts' needs.   
  
Alastor - clean, perfect, and quite content with the particular brand of Hell he'd bound Angel to - smiled back.   
The spider's wide, scratched-up ass jiggled as the knot was forced in and out of him, each thrust and pull dislocating and relocating the hound-slut's hips respectively, accompanied with the most gut-wrenching noises imaginable. His constantly erect, glittery-pink cum dribbling cock dragging through the sludge, smothered beneath the weight of his umpteenth pregnancy from the violating beasts.   
Angel's natural beauty barely remained beneath the soaked fur, and his perfectly shaped tits had given way to huge, weighty, milk trickling breasts that ached with anticipation for his pups to chew and suck on them. His arsehole - once considered perfect by others far less bestial than his new husbands who took great pleasure in sitting on him as they slept - was now a doughy, dark, puffy, wrinkled, gaping wreck. Constantly bubbling cum, perfectly moulded to suck on their knots in a way no other beast could. And he was, without any doubt, nothing more than a beast now. A filthy dog-slut through and through.

"Don't worry," Alastor called back towards the sound of slapping flesh from within the hole, gradually making his way back up the stairs to the bright world above. "I'm sure your friends will forget about you soon enough. It won't be difficult."  
But no rebuke of this claim sounded out, rather a groan accompanied with another depraved cry that was something between an animalistic warble and a sickening gargle sticky with hellhound juices.  
  
"F-Fuck, I can't stop squirting!" There was a sob, punctuated by the sound of Angel choking on cum. "Use me! I want my ass to never close again!! I'm not allowed to, I love you! I love my husbands!"  
  
"Oh god, not more! I can't fit mo-oooore! Aaahgh! Fuck yes! Piss into me; I need to puke it inside his arse so he can squirt it back in ma mouth! Rghlgk! **Hrghk**!"  
  
"Yes! Use me as ya dildo - I ain't worth much else! Ah wanna soak yer arse-walls in my spit! I'm a good- hgrhk, ah fuck! I'm yer good breedin' bitch! Break me! Break me more!"  
  
"I'm nothin' but yer bitch! Ah love yas!"  
  


"I was made ta be yer bitch!!"

-𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖚𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘! 𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖚𝖓𝖑𝖔𝖈𝐤𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕱𝕰𝜯𝓘𝓢𝓗 𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖓𝖌!-


	40. Afterword

  
To my dearest readers,  
  
Well, we have finally done it. The finish-line has been crossed. I thank each and every one of you for your patience, adoration, kind words, support and love throughout the writing of this horrible, accursed fanfiction.   
There is a distinct satisfaction to be found with completing something, and I can safely say that this project is wholly and utterly concluded. I am satisfied with its multiple endings, intermissions, repeatedly undue, out-of-place references, constant edits, and with the overall bulk of writing that comprise this beast of a fanfiction.  
  
This has taken me, what? 6 months of on-and-off writing to complete? Upon inspection, today is the six month anniversary of my starting of this piece. Oh dearie me... To think all that time ago I saw some rather heated images of Blitzo squished between Stolas and Angel's fluffy breasts courtesy of [Suspiciouspirit's NSFW work](https://twitter.com/NaughtyySpirit/status/1208804215004565504), and thought to myself _"Oh yes, I can write something about this"_ and now look at it. My lord. I am proud to have created this, and I am humbled to have entertained you.   
I believe, as is due, I will take a break from writing for a spell. If I feel particularly inspired I may yet return with a one-shot here and there, but we shall see.   
  
Ultimately? I am satisfied with what I have made, and I hope it has satisfied you too. I cannot stress enough that I could not have continued composing this wicked prose without your support.  
Creating, while certainly something I enjoy doing for myself, can be draining, and more often than not I leave the majority of my erotic fanfiction for myself without any will to share them online. This one, however, has been written for _you_. I am humbled to be a part of this wretched fandom, and I hope in some small way I have had an impact on it.   
If, by any chance, the lovely reader currently drifting through these lines of text is someone directly involved in the production of Hazbin Hotel and/or Helluva Boss, I would like to acknowledge that _what I have done to your characters is beyond sinful, and I am well aware that there is no Heaven for me now,_ however? **_I am not sorry for what I have done._**  
  
Thank you for your time once again, dear reader, and I hope I have brought some joy into your life.  
  
Sincerely,  
  
Salty Tea Leaves. 


End file.
